The Sins of the Father
by DarkwingPsycho
Summary: The story of Darkwing's mischievous but well-intentioned father, and how his life unavoidably influenced his son's. COMPLETE. PLEASE R&R!
1. The Joys of Paperwork

Disclaimer: Characters used from the show (namely J. Gander) are © The Walt Disney Company. I am in no way making a profit off of this story. I can only hope viewers have as much fun reading it as I am having writing it!

Jacob Mallard, Sergeant Pondrains, Nelson, and any other non-canon characters are © me, Amanda Rohrssen. Use of these characters without my permission is strongly ill-advised. Also, it's just plain mean to steal other people's characters, m'kay?

I would also like to express my thanks to Tammy Wraight for her help in creating my character, Jacob.

Also, as a bit of an explanation to those of you who are reading Bloody-Ban's story, Jacob is her character Jake's counterpart. While Jake is Negaduck's father and lives in the Negaverse, Jacob is Darkwing's father and lives in the Normalverse. The stories are meant to be similar, but they are not exactly the same. So I don't want any flames concerning that, please. Thank you and enjoy!

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The Sins of the Father

"What the...?" he muttered, pouring over a mound of paperwork that sat precariously on the edge of his desk in the laboratory. "How am I supposed to know THAT? Stupid paperwork..." He tossed his pencil carelessly at the tabletop, watching it bounce twice then roll over the edge and onto the floor. With a frustrated grunt he rolled his eyes, folded his arms, and leaned back in the stiff wooden chair with a knitted brow.

Rapidly losing any motivation he'd had to finish his work, Jacob Mallard looked around the laboratory for anything interesting to do. When he saw nothing he heaved a heavy sigh and picked up the next piece of paperwork and stared at it, all of the words beginning to run together. He shook his head rapidly, trying to re-focus, but he soon forwent that idea and ended up making a paper airplane out of it instead of filing it out.

Just as he'd been about to bomb an enemy base (a pile of rubber bands) with paperclips, someone knocked on the laboratory door. Quickly Jacob shoved his makeshift battle scene into a nearby garbage can and picked up his pencil, trying desperately to look like he'd been working diligently on his paperwork.

The door opened.

"I thought you were in here, Jacob."

He sighed in relief and turned in his chair, leaning an arm on the back of it. "Oh good, John, it's you. I thought maybe it was Agent Puke-for-Brains again."

"Oh? Is he riding your back again?"

"Like a monkey, John." Jacob rolled his eyes. "So what's up?" He propped his feet up on the desk.

"Well, for one thing, we're late for training."

"Whaddaya mean?" The mallard looked at his watch. "It's only - GAH!" Like a gunshot Jacob was out of his chair and running down the hall with John at his heels. "He'd better not make us do doubles!" he shouted back.

"I wouldn't put it past him," John gasped back. He had never been a very good runner.

"Come on, John! At this rate he'll be making you do The Wall for twenty minutes after drill!" Jacob stopped to grab his friend by the wrist and make him hurry up so that their punishment might somehow be less severe the fewer minutes they were late.

The Wall was a giant fifty foot wall with miniscule footholds littering its face. There was no rope, no safety net. If a trainee fell, it was into a sandpit. It was the part of the obstacle course that terrified John Gander Hooter the most.

With a thunderous clang Jacob barrelled into the gigantic gymnasium that was half outside and half inside. J. Gander wasn't too far behind.

"So," barked the drill sergeant, Agent Pondrains, "finally decided to join us, eh boys? That's ten demerits from each of your records." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly and shook his head in mock-disappointment. "And don't think you're not going to be doing extra laps after today's work-out either!"

Jacob groaned and rolled his eyes. He hated staying after drill, he liked being on a tight schedule! This was going to throw off the rest of his plans for the day! Even if he had yet to make any.

Both avians got into line, straightening their backs, puffing out their chests, and staring straight ahead, and waited for instructions. A burly canine next to Jacob leaned over slightly and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "Late again?"

"I was busy," Jacob shrugged.

"At this rate you're going to be the most in-shape agent at SHUSH!" the bulldog replied with a quiet chuckle.

"What do you mean?" he shot back with the flash of an impish smile. "I AM the most in-shape agent at SHUSH!"

"Nelson! Mallard! Shut your traps or I'll have you doing janitorial work so fast you won't even know the difference!" Agent Pondrains shouted in an unnecessarily loud voice.

Jacob smirked and retorted lowly, "Oh no, anything but that! It's so terrible to do for a few hours what hundreds of people have to do every day!"

"That's it, Mallard! You just bought yourself clean-up duty after those laps you owe me!" Agent Pondrains' snout was just inches away from Jacob's beak, his hot, putrid breath invading the trainee's nostrils. It was all Jacob to do to keep from gagging.

"Yes, sir," he replied, gritting his teeth.

An hour and a half later, Jacob was on his last lap before he was supposed to begin custodial work. He had lapped J. Gander at least five times. As he approached him from behind yet again, he slowed his pace to match that of his short-legged friend.

"How many you got left, John?" Jacob asked, still far from running short of breath.

J. Gander, however, was heaving and gasping, droplets of sweat pouring down his drenched face. He managed to hold up three fingers, a hopelessly exhausted expression on his face.

"Come on, ladies! Pick up the pace!" boomed Agent Pondrains, whose curly pig tail when straight each time he shouted.

"Don't bend your arms so much," Jacob instructed, beginning to run backwards so he could better converse with J. Gander. "Just relax everything except your legs and concentrate on your breathing."

The goose looked at him, confused. Jacob grinned.

"Come on, only three more! Didn't think I'd leave you here to have fun without me, did you?"

J. Gander tried to reply, but he had no breath to speak.

"Hey John, you don't look so good," Jacob remarked, concern flickering across his face.

J. Gander began gasping for air, almost choking on it each time he inhaled because he did it so fast, and his face was white as a sheet.

"Hey! Look at me! _Look at me!_" the mallard demanded insistently until J. Gander complied. "_Breathe._ Slowly...slowly...find a pattern. You'll get your second wind soon, just pay attention to what I say."

The goose did as he was told, eyeing Jacob the whole time. It was obvious that he was no athlete, especially when he was running next to the mallard who had been the top track star at his university. Soon J. Gander reclaimed his breath, his color returned, and they finished off his last lap around the course.

Almost instantly J. Gander doubled over, resting his hands on his knees, and breathed deeply. Jacob went over to him and put a hand on his back.

"Well, look at it this way. At least you only had to climb The Wall once today, right?"

Somehow J. Gander didn't feel very consoled, but after a few minutes he stood back up and walked with his friend out of the gym.

"Didn't you have somewhere to be at eight?" J. Gander asked through gulps of air.

"Yeah," Jacob replied unenthusiastically. "'Clean-up duty.' Bah..."

"No, I mean-"

"GAIL!" Jacob's eyes went wide as he remembered the plans he'd made earlier in the week. Frantically he looked down at his friend and gripped his shoulders. "John, my paper-"

"Done," J. Gander replied simply, putting a hand between him and Jacob.

"Oh, you're the BEST, John!" Jacob grinned at his friend and then took off down the hallway.

"I know," J. Gander smirked as he watched him go. "I know."


	2. First Impressions

Author's Note: Both Jacob Mallard and Gail Patonia are © me, Amanda Rohrssen. I blame this chapter on the movie _Alfie_. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend that you do. :)

* * *

"Sorry I'm late; I had to stay after," Jacob explained apologetically as he sat down across the table from her.

"Oooo, in trouble with the drill sergeant again?" Gail Patonia inquired, resting her elbows on the table and neatly folding her hands underneath her chin.

"You could say that," he replied. "Have you ordered yet?"

"No." She sat back in her seat with a small smile. "I waited for you."

"Well, considerate _and_ beautiful, there's something you don't see every day."

Jacob was well known at SHUSH for making trouble, but he was also well known for his sweet talk. He had already dated over half of the female trainees. Some of them he was still dating. But not a one of them knew about the other. At least not yet.

Gail blushed. She was not particularly stunning as far as looks went, not particularly popular, and wasn't particularly a ready conversationalist unless she had known you for a long while. That was why she could not believe that out of all the men to have asked her out it was _Jacob Mallard_ she was sitting across from now.

While she was not a recruit at SHUSH, many of her friends were, and she had heard all kinds of stories about this man's bravado, his charm, and his alluring physical appearance. None of the stories had done him justice.

When Jacob popped the cork off of the wine he'd ordered and poured them both a glass, Gail watched him curiously. She couldn't help but wonder why someone like him would ask someone like her out on a date, unless...

But she pushed the "unless" thought from her mind. She was judging him based on what she'd heard instead of what she was experiencing and that was unfair.

"What should we toast to?" he asked, raising his wine glass into the air, pinky extended.

"How about...to possibilities?" she suggested in a tiny voice. Her wine glass shook slightly as she raised hers.

"All right. To possibilities," he agreed.

They clinked their glasses together and drank. Jacob watched Gail over the top of his glass, his eyes seeming to look straight through her. She shivered.

He had asked her out in the book store located a few blocks away from SHUSH. She had been out with a couple of her friends looking for nothing in particular when he had come up to say hi. Not long after they'd been introduced Jacob had pulled her aside to set up the date, making it a point to tell her not to say anything to her friends about it because he had recently broken up with one of them and it might upset her to know - at least right now. Against her better judgment, she had agreed to keep their date a secret. She didn't like keeping things from anybody, but since it was for (what she felt was) a greater good, she went along with it.

It was raining. They were standing on the sidewalk just outside of the restaurant, and Jacob was anxiously anticipating their next step. He'd never been with a schoolteacher before.

"I-I had a good time tonight," Gail said softly, looking up at him with her large hazel eyes.

"Me too," he replied, slowly wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning in to kiss her. Almost immediately he could feel her tense up, and she turned her head to the side so that his lips brushed her cheek. "What's wrong?" He pulled back in confusion. He had thought the evening was going well.

"Nothing," she said guiltily. "I'm sorry, it's just...I hardly know you."

"Oh." Jacob stepped away from her, trying unsuccessfully not to look disappointed. He flashed her a smile and forced himself to chuckle slightly. "Heh, well, I understand." He wasn't used to his advances being rejected, but he hadn't totally given up hope in his pursuit of her. "There's always next time."

"Next time?" she repeated in surprise.

"Sure. You will have dinner with me again, won't you? Maybe I'll give you a tour of my apartment, just for kicks. You can see firsthand how bad I am at housekeeping." He smiled his characteristic smile and winked.

Like most women he graced with that smile, Gail blushed and giggled. "O-okay," she nodded enthusiastically.

"Great. I'll see you at seven, then - let's say...Saturday?"

She nodded again, her cheeks still bright pink. With a sweeping bow, Jacob took one of her dainty hands and kissed it chivalrously.

"Good night, fair lady," he crooned playfully.

"Good night," she replied happily. Then she turned, hailed a cab, and disappeared into the misty rain.

Jacob frowned slightly. His plans had to be changed, but perhaps not all that drastically. The only thing he was in need of now was a woman. Quickly he ran through all of his options before one he wanted came to mind. He grinned in a self-satisfied way and took off down Feather Avenue with a little bounce in his step, humming.

Five or six blocks later, now drenched from head to toe with rainwater, Jacob made his way up a flight of stone steps and pushed one of the doorbells of a swank apartment building.

"Yes?" a sultry woman's voice purred over the intercom.

He pressed the white button beneath the speaker as he spoke. "It's me."

"Oh! My what a nice surprise! You must be freezing out there; come inside and I'll warm you up..."

Jacob congratulated himself on always having back-ups. The night hadn't been a total waste after all.


	3. The Mock Mission

Disclaimer: J. Gander Hooter is © The Walt Disney Company. I am in no way making any moolah off of this story. So no suing!

Jacob Mallard, Sergeant Pondrains, Drew, McKain, Nelson, and any other non-canon character that may be mentioned are © me, Amanda Rohrssen. Please don't steal these characters, or I might have to sick Negaduck on you. ;)

Thank you to everyone who has left reviews! You all are too kind. :)

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"It's our first mock mission today; think you can handle it, shrimp?" one of the cadets jeered at J. Gander as they lined up for training.

The goose gave the cadet a dark look and was about to move toward him when Jacob stepped in front of him, facing the taunter.

"He can handle it a hundred times better than any man here, and certainly better than mucus-faced baboons like YOU, McKain," he retaliated. "No offense, Drew," he added hastily to a nearby primate cadet.

"None taken," Drew replied with a shrug.

"He's lucky to have a nursemaid like you, Mallard. It's the only way he's made it this far through training," spat McKain.

Jacob opened his beak, but before he got a word out, the gymnasium door slammed open and in stomped their drill sergeant Agent Pondrains.

"Look alive, ladies, today we're going to find out what you sacks of scum are made of!" He began pacing up and down the ranks, his jowls sagging in a formidable frown. "We are going up to the national forest. An area has been marked off to set the boundaries. Your mission is to find the hidden flag within those boundaries and return to the starting point without being shot. Anyone who gets shot will lie down _immediately_. There will be no physical fighting allowed. Anyone who is seen engaging in physical fighting will be disqualified, and a reprimand for disorderly conduct and disobeying orders will go in your permanent SHUSH file. Anyone going outside of the set boundaries will be immediately disqualified and will have earned themselves a few extra hours afterward with yours truly. Is that understood?"

"_Yes Drill Sergeant!_" they all shouted in unison.

"Good. Now this mission will be performed in pairs. Choose your partners wisely, as he could be the deciding factor between failure and success. Once you have your partner I will assign your team a company vehicle to transport you and your partner to the park. Anyone caught making unauthorized stops in their vehicle will _not_ have the opportunity to participate in today's assignment. Understood?"

"_Yes Drill Sergeant!_"

"Good. Now pair up!"

Murmuring ensued as the cadets dispersed and chose their partners. J. Gander looked up at his mallard friend standing next to him.

"Jacob?"

"Naturally."

The two avians walked up to Agent Pondrains and checked out a vehicle before heading outside.

"Why do you have to do that?" J. Gander asked somberly as they neared the jeep.

"Do what?" Jacob asked without looking at his friend. He slid into the driver's seat and put the key into the ignition.

"Fight my fights for me," the goose answered.

"What do you mean? McKain? Ah, don't pay attention to him, he's just-"

"Why don't you take your own advice?" he retorted.

"John, I was only trying to help."

"Well don't bother. They all think I'm weak thanks to you."

"That wasn't my intention." Jacob took his eyes off of the road to look at his small friend for a few moments before turning back, a slight frown on his bill. "Fine. Next time you're on your own."

They didn't speak to one another again until they arrived at the enclosed area Agent Pondrains had told them about.

"Mallard! Hooter! You're late!"

"No, everyone else is just early," Jacob muttered resentfully under his breath.

"What was that, Mallard?"

"I said, 'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,'" he lied through clenched teeth. Normally he could handle Pondrains, but with John mad at him, the drill instructor's snide remarks were all the more grating.

"That's what I thought." Agent Pondrains then turned to address the entire unit, pulling a revolver out of his pocket as he did so. "All right, ladies, this is where we separate the men from the boys! As soon as I pull the trigger, you are dismissed to your assignment. Use whatever means necessary to be the team that brings back that flag, but remember there is to be no physical violence. Each of your weapons contain small paint pellets so we will be able to tell who is smart and who is dead."

Jacob and McKain passed each other a Look before McKain's gaze traveled to J. Gander. John swallowed dryly and pretended not to notice.

A thunderous sound screamed through the air like a missile and suddenly everything was a blur. Men were scrambling all around Jacob to get into the woods and be the first to the flag. He looked around blindly for John and managed to grab his friend's army green vest to hold him back while the others charged forward.

"What are you doing?" both John and Pondrains questioned vociferously.

Instead of answering, Jacob looked from side to side, scanning the tree line and waiting for the last of the men to disappear into the woods before finally plunging into the dark shelter of the forest, dragging John behind him. He could barely see his hand in front of his face in the dense foliage as they charged onward; his eyes searched the trees for any sign of either the flag or the other teams. Suddenly he came to a stop behind the next tree and pressed up against it, holding his paint gun up at the ready.

J. Gander joined him a few seconds later, trying to keep his heavy breathing under control. "Wha-?" he began, but Jacob silenced him. John scowled and started to move out from behind the shield of the tree trunk when Jacob snatched his collar and yanked him backward just as a paint pellet whizzed by the gander's face. John blinked in surprise, but before he could grab his own gun to retaliate, Jacob was leaping over him and aiming around the trunk. Within a split second an angry shout was heard not too far away and it was evident that Jacob had ousted John's would-be assassin from the drill.

"This way," Jacob urged his friend as he hastily made his way into a ditch covered by tall, dense grass.

J. Gander grumbled under his breath as he followed, feeling cheated.

"We've gotta keep moving or we'll be sitting ducks…no pun intended," Jacob said over his shoulder with an impish smile as he parted the grass, careful to avoid making any noise to give away their position.

Still sulking, John reluctantly tagged along after his partner. Just once he wanted to be the one who led. He hated the way Jacob patronized him, even if he knew it was unintentional. Everybody else did it, after all.

He tightened his grip on his gun.

Now out of the ditch, they reached a small clearing surrounded by large, thick oaks. Jacob slung his gun around his back and started shimmying up the nearest one. John decided not to do the same and instead stood watch at the bottom.

His gaze scanning the branches, a triumphant grin surfaced across Jacob's long beak as his eyes lighted on something. "John!" he hissed excitedly, "I see it!"

"See what?" John whispered back irritably.

"The flag!"

Suddenly, a small blast came out of the brush and something whizzed just past John's ear that made the little gander jerk with surprise.

Loud, raunchy laughter erupted from the bushes and out strode McKain, a sneer on his pinched, arrogant face. John felt the heat rise to his face.

"What's the matter, shrimp? Afraid? Why don't you give it up and leave academy training to the REAL men?" He laughed again, a sound that closely resembled hollow metal barrels being dragged over concrete.

John gripped his gun tightly, not even bothering to fight down the anger that was welling up inside. He'd put up with bullies like McKain all his life, and it was time to forget formality, forget consequences, forget fear. It was time to fight back.

With a hideous bellow of rage, J. Gander threw down his weapon and charged at McKain, slamming him into the dirt and pummeling him over and over with his small but rock-hard fists.

Jacob leapt out of the tree and stood just behind his friend, his expression mirroring those of the other trainees as they gathered around. They were all completely shocked. Their mouths hung open, echoing the disbelief in their eyes. John Gander had always been so quiet, so calm, so reserved, and so by-the-book. The man relentlessly felling McKain now had eyes that burned with scorn, a bill that was twisted into a contemptuous snarl, and an air of uncontrolled, absolute madness. And while Jacob had wanted to invervene immediately, he remembered his friend's biting request to let him fight his own battles and stayed back.

It wasn't until blood from McKain's broken nose smeared all over John's knuckles that Jacob finally stepped in.

"That's enough, John!" he said, shoving the still-swinging gander off of his victim.

John stumbled away a few feet, his lungs heaving, before leaning against the trunk of a tree. His entire body was pale and trembling, and he watched McKain bitterly through half-lidded eyes.

"Recruits!" Pondrains' voice barked in the distance. "What is going on back there?"

Quickly, Jacob bent over the now unconscious McKain, his eyes giving him a once-over, then threw his canteen at John's feet.

"Wash your hands!" he hissed urgently before wiping his hands against McKain's bleeding nose and mouth, streaking the blood over his knuckles just like John's.

"No! Mallard, are you crazy? You can't cover for him!" Nelson whispered, looking warily over his shoulder toward where Pondrains' voice had come from. "Pondrains will have you on a silver platter!"

Jacob gave Nelson a hard glare until the bulldog gave in. All of the other trainees wore expressions of chagrin at their fellow recruit's decision. They all respected Jacob, and it was because of that respect that no one else argued with him.

John glanced down at the canteen, then up at Jacob.

"Do it!" Jacob commanded pleadingly.

As if in a daze, John's eyes travelled slowly back to the canteen. He plucked it from the ground and shakily did as he was told, the clear water cleansing his hands of all traces of McKain's blood.

At that moment, footsteps drew closer, pounding against the dirt, and out of the thicket stormed Pondrains, his face ruddy and imperious.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, putting his hands on his hips.

No one spoke. John shrank back behind two of the others. Jacob stood up slowly, a resigned expression on his face as the drill sergeant looked from him to McKain's still form.

"You..." Pondrains managed through his rising fury.

"He kept trying to pick a fight with me, sir," Jacob said in a somber, calm tone. "But it looks like I got the last word."

Pondrains' head jerked suddenly toward the nearest recruit. "Call a medic!"

The recruit nearly jumped out of his skin at the ferocity in Pondrains' voice, but he recovered quickly and saluted before taking off through the foliage.

"You," Pondrains began again, looking at Jacob like a lion about to eat a steak, "come with me."

As the two silently departed the clearing, there was not a single trainee who did not miss the opportunity to glower malevolently at J. Gander.


	4. Lolita

**Disclaimer: **J. Gander is © The Walt Disney Company. I am in no way making a profit off of this story. Please don't take me to court, as I am simply a poor master's student using this story for stress-relief purposes.

Jacob Mallard, Sergeant Pondrains, McKain, Lolita, and Charlie Collarton are all © me, Amanda Rohrssen. Please do not use them without my permission, as they are my brainchildren. I don't come into your brain and steal _your_ children, now do I? Well…there was that one time…

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There was a knock at the laboratory door before it opened. This time when J. Gander entered the room, Jacob was immersed in a stack of paperwork, which was unusually large. The rest of the recruits had been able to leave the class nearly three hours prior.

Jacob did not look up as his friend made his way toward him. When J. Gander paused wordlessly beside him, he allowed his eyes to flit toward the clock on the wall rather than look at the solemn-faced gander. It was ten minutes to nine.

After what seemed like eons, John cleared his throat and spoke haltingly. "Do you need any help with that?"

"No," Jacob responded curtly, continuing to focus all of his attention on his work.

J. Gander winced as if Jacob had reprimanded him. It was a few moments more before he ventured to speak again.

"Look, Jacob…what you did back there-"

"Just forget about it, all right?"

The commanding calm in his friend's voice made J. Gander squirm slightly with guilt.

"It isn't right. It should be me doing this," he insisted weakly.

"Let it go, John," Jacob said firmly toward the paperwork just inches away from his bill. "It's my work, and I have to have it done in ten minutes."

"But your record-"

"I don't care about my goddamn record," Jacob said quietly. "I don't intend on this being my only demerit, even if it really isn't mine to begin with." He took a deep breath, and let his body finally relax. "There are too many rules here, anyway. How can they expect anyone NOT to break them? When I'm an agent, things'll be done a little differently whether they like it or not," he boasted with a smirk, his glittering black eyes finding John's at last.

"_If_ you become an agent," J. Gander corrected softly.

They fell silent again.

The clock ticked relentlessly on the wall, reminding Jacob of his deadline. He eyed it wearily and turned once more to the heaping pile of paperwork.

"Why did you do it?" John's voice rose meekly.

"What do you mean 'why did I do it?'" Jacob repeated, his pencil scratching over the paper hurriedly. "You're my best friend. I wasn't about to let McKain get you thrown out of the academy."

"It wasn't McKain's fault, though. I shouldn't have overreacted."

"He'd been asking for it for months," replied Jacob coolly. "Don't worry about it."

"But what if you'd been-"

"Thrown out? Pondrains wouldn't do that to me no matter how much he threatens it. I'm too good to let go, and he knows it."

"And what about me…?" John said slowly. "I'm no good out there in the field, Jacob. I know it, you know it, the others know it, the sergeant knows it…You should have let me take the blame."

"Knock it off," said Jacob firmly as he stood up, his chair scraping unwillingly across the tile flooring. His eyes sparked like burning coals. "Even if you weren't meant to be out there, that doesn't mean you wouldn't make a damn good agent. And anyone who says otherwise will answer to me."

"But that's just it, Jacob. How many times will you have to step in for me? I have to fight my own battles, stand my own ground. I don't want to watch you throw your life away because of me."

"And you call breaking McKain's nose standing your ground?" Jacob retorted placidly with an unreadable expression.

"No…"

"Look, you're going to graduate top of the class, and you're going to be my partner. Just like we planned, okay? Nothing's gonna change that, even if I have to do a hundred _thousand_ pages of paperwork." Jacob gathered up his work and tapped the bottom of the pile against the worktable's black top so that all of the pages fell into place in a neat cube. As he turned to leave, he passed a boyish smirk over his shoulder. "Just keep an eye on that temper of yours. I don't know how much longer my hand can hold out."

* * *

Straightening his bowtie and spritzing his bill with breath spray, Jacob pushed open the mahogany double doors of the Oriental Dragon and strolled inside, the thick carpet feeling tantalizingly supple beneath his expensive black designer shoes. Scattered around the many-tiered ceiling hung exquisite oriental lanterns patterned in painstakingly detailed iron filigree, long red tassels hanging lazily from their edges like wisps of moss on a willow tree. It was now nearing ten o'clock.

"I was beginning to think that you were not coming," a sultry voice with a Russian accent crooned to him above the low murmur of the restaurant.

Without missing a beat, Jacob bent and kissed the dark woman's delicate hand.

"I thought you'd enjoy the suspense."

"Indeed," she returned. She had the look of a carefully carved iron statue, her black feathers shining dully in the pallid light. She was one of his favorites. Her expression was as unreadable and mysterious as an ancient rune-covered tablet. Maybe that was why Jacob liked her so much.

"In trouble again, are we? I heard what you did for your friend." A slight flicker dashed across her pale green eyes. She leaned forward and rested her chin languidly on her hands. "It was very…noble."

Her name was Lolita, and she was training in Special Operations at SHUSH, one of the few organizations at the time to offer such things to women.

Jacob's face darkened for a split second, then he smiled and began swirling his glass of ice water with his straw. "Let's talk about something else, shall we? How's Special Ops? Bannoli treating you all right?"

Lolita rolled her eyes and sat back.

"As much as can be expected from such sexist vermin. Let us try the buffet." Her mood lightened as suddenly as it had soured. She loved to eat, though her wiry frame suggested otherwise.

Minutes later, Lolita was slow-feeding Jacob egg rolls, caressing the ends of his bill with the fried tip before letting him bite into it.

"I made a film for you," she purred softly, letting the inviting rings of her irises pour like a cool, refreshing waterfall into the fathomless depths of his black ones. A wave of contentment washed over him. He loved women.

"It involves cherries and a bearskin rug…" she continued lowly, drawing one of her fingers along the underside of his beak.

"I like it already," he replied in a matching tone. "What's say we blow this joint and have a look?"

The gentle glow of candlelight blanketed them both in a warm, comforting embrace as they lay underneath the bearskin rug. The projector lay quiet in the corner, and the screen stood watch over them beside the fireplace. Lolita's supple, smooth figure felt so good against Jacob's chest as she lay atop him. His fingers tenderly traveled through her long black hair, easily slipping through the thin strands as if they were made of silk. Another perfect evening with another perfect woman.

She had played hard to get at first, making excuses like wanting to focus on her career or that she was simply too busy. So Jacob had persisted in other, more subtle ways. He had found her lack of swooning, and apparent lack of a need for love, challenging, and he knew he couldn't give up on her until he'd successfully penetrated her defenses and discovered the woman inside of her that she was trying so hard to hide. His determination had paid off, and here was the stony-faced Russian sighing happily in his arms. He was now certain that he was possessed of the ability to make _any_ woman in the world lust after him. It was his silent mission to do just that once he was a full-blown SHUSH agent. He smiled in spite of himself. It was only a matter of time now…the thought was very gratifying.

"Jacob?" Lolita's lilting voice murmured, bringing Jacob's daydreaming to an abrupt halt.

"Mm?"

He was a little irritated at having been interrupted.

"I think it is time for our relationship to move on to the next level, do you not agree?"

He frowned inwardly. _Oh great. The "us" talk. _"What do you mean?" he asked aloud, keeping his annoyance to himself.

"We should move in together."

"What would the neighbors say?" he inquired with false fright. Such a thing was becoming more popular, but was still frowned upon by the society of 1957.

"They would only be jealous that we are so in love," she crooned, kissing the tip of his chin lightly.

He tensed momentarily, then asked her smoothly, "Hey, what time is it?"

"I do not care," she whispered gently with the hint of a smile on her flinty features.

"No, I'm serious," Jacob persisted. "What time is it?"

"I do not know…a quarter to midnight?"

He sat up like a shot, his face white as a bed sheet. Lolita was nearly catapulted from underneath the rug.

"I've gotta go!"

"What? Now? But why?" she questioned, her face winding into a suspicious glower.

"I have to be back at SHUSH!" he cried, yanking his trousers over his briefs with a harried expression. "Stuff for Pondrains," he added as he searched for his shirt.

"Here," Lolita said coldly, holding out the garment to him. The orange light from the candles danced coyly over her midnight body, giving it a sinister, shape-shifting appearance.

"Thanks," he said hastily, pecking her on the forehead before plunging his arms into the sleeves and buttoning it up haphazardly. Some of the buttons hadn't lined up correctly and his shirt sat ridiculously askew on his lanky, muscular body. Lolita didn't even crack a smile at this comical sight. Instead, she pulled the rug over her naked body and folded her arms with a sullen expression.

"I'll give you a call as soon as Pondrains gets off my back, okay?" He knelt beside her and rubbed her arm suggestively.

"Sure," she replied flatly without looking at him.

"Okay," he said again, then gave her cheek a quick kiss and was gone.

Outside, the rain-sweetened breeze floated through the city streets and caressed his feathers, sending a flutter of rejuvenation through him. It was the feeling of freedom, and Jacob relished it immensely. Whenever any girl he was dating brought up the "us" discussion, he knew the fun had ended, and he always came up with some excuse to leave and then never contact them again. It was better that way. He could move on to his next prospect without having to endure anything beyond the simple pleasures of relationships. To ask more of him was to put a chain around his ankle, and he was nobody's prisoner.

He was thinking of going home – there was no meeting with the sergeant, it had been the first thing that had come to mind – but then something caught the corner of his eye. It was a bar, but one unlike any he'd seen before. It had genuine saloon-style doors, a wide overhang – it was exactly like something out of a western, and Jacob loved westerns. He had always thought himself something of a lone ranger.

The place looked brand new, and there only seemed to be a few stragglers hanging around, so Jacob shrugged and wandered inside. The night was still young, after all.

And Jacob had a feeling he'd be walking through the doors of The Old Haunt many, many more times.

"What'll it be, sir?" a young canine with short curly black hair addressed him from behind the counter.

"Scotch on the rocks…and I mean ice," Jacob replied curtly as he paused to admire the newly refurbished building.

When the light clink of glass on wood met his ears, Jacob made his way to one of the stools and swung a leg around it before seating himself.

"Nice place you got here, Mister…?"

"Collarton. Charlie Collarton." They shook hands briefly and the bartender smiled in a friendly way. "What brings a man like you to this neck of the woods?"

"A woman," the duck said flatly, taking a big gulp of the liquor.

"Hoo boy, don't get me started on women. They ain't nothin' but trouble."

"Don't I know it. Still, I can never seem to get enough."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not especially."

"Well that's good, 'cause I don't especially wanna hear about it."

"Mr. Collarton?"

"Yes, sir?"

"This could be the start of a beautiful friendship."


	5. Solitary

Disclaimer: Sergeant Pondrains, Jacob Mallard, Nelson, Needler, and Director Hannigan are all © me, Amanda Rohrssen. Usage of these characters without my permission will result in you being eternally harassed by flying monkeys. I wouldn't risk it if I were you. They fling poo. J. Gander Hooter is © The Walt Disney Company.

To my readers, thank you for your continued support. It really means a lot. :)

* * *

The time for graduation was nearing, but Sergeant Pondrains was even less lenient with his recruits than he had been previously.

"Let's pick up the pace, ladies! I want five more laps out of all of you and _then_ we're going to go over weapons assembly until you pea brains get it right!"

As usual, Jacob was the first one finished with the conditioning, and rather than stop and rest while the others completed their laps, he ran alongside J. Gander. Pondrains had never said a word about his doing this, but today the moment Jacob passed with J. Gander on his first extra lap, the pig barked, "Mallard! Sidelines! Quit holding Hooter's hand and let him finish his _own_ laps!"

Glaring, Jacob complied with Pondrains' order. "Is there a problem, Sergeant?" he asked through clenched teeth. He kept having to remind himself that he only had a couple more weeks with the drill sergeant before he was an agent.

"Your paperwork," he snarled, his large nostrils flaring as he held up a few sheets of Jacob's work. "Who did it for you?"

Jacob could feel his insides tighten with defensiveness. He had worked steadfastly for hours on that paperwork, and, for once, he had done it alone.

"I don't know what you mean, sir," replied the outraged recruit, mustering everything he had to keep his voice steady.

"Did you pay someone to do this? It's much too good for the kind of work you put out, Mallard."

Had Jacob not been seething, he would have found amusement in that remark. As it was, the comment only added fuel to the fire.

"I'm only going to ask you one more time. Who did you have do it for you?"

If he told the truth, Jacob knew Pondrains would never believe him. The sergeant had already come to a conclusion and there was no way out of it. Knowing this, Jacob's face twisted into a sardonic sneer of contempt.

"The Easter Bunny. He and I are real good pals."

"That's it, Mallard!" Pondrains exploded, his curly tail going straight with anger. He threw the papers he held on the floor and pointed toward the door. "Solitary! The rest of the training!"

Instantly Jacob's demeanor changed. "But sir-" he started.

"Go!"

The trainee's face drained of color. The rest of the men had stopped dead in their tracks, staring in their direction.

"But sir!" Nelson protested. "Solitary-"

"Did I _ask_ for your opinion, recruit?" spat the sergeant.

The bulldog shook his head slowly and backed away, but his face held an apprehension that echoed the rest of the troop. "No, sir."

"He'll go mad in there!" another man piped in. "I heard that the last guy confined to solitary for more than a week cut off his own ear!"

"You've been reading too much art history, Needler," Pondrains snapped. "I said solitary and that order _stands_, is that understood!" His face reddening, he then turned his attention back on Jacob. "_Move!_"

For what seemed like hours, the recruit and the drill sergeant stared each other down before Jacob grudgingly went in the direction of Pondrains' engorged finger.

The rest of the troop watched in helpless silence as Jacob strode out of sight, every single face solemn and filled with commiseration. Solitary was considered the worst punishment any officer could get. It was a tiny black box that stood directly in the sunlight. There was a small slat in one of the sides that served as a window, but for all intents and purposes, it was devoid of fresh air, light, and – most of all – outside contact. To be in there was to be faced with yourself and only yourself 24/7. Most men who came out of solitary after long periods of time were not the same when they emerged. It was rumored that many went insane.

"You ladies have those laps finished by the time I get back," Pondrains growled threateningly, "or I'll have you on latrine duty so fast you'll think you're horseflies. Is that clear?"

Outside, it didn't take long for the already sweltering heat to bathe Jacob in a layer of hot, sticky sweat. He looked into the sky hopefully, but sulked when he discovered that it was cloudless.

"Figures," he muttered just as Pondrains appeared at his side.

"Inside."

"What? No parting gifts?"

"I said _inside_!" Pondrains wrapped his thick fingers around Jacob's shirt collar and shoved the recruit toward one of the tiny enclosures that littered the rooftop of the SHUSH building.

Jacob stumbled slightly, then heaved the top off of the box before hunching over it, fingers gripping the sides so tightly the blood flow was cut off. It was obvious that even Jacob Mallard was reluctant to face solitary.

"What's the matter, Mallard? Not so cocky now, are you? Tell you what. You make a public apology to me for the attitude you've given me throughout the training period, and I'll overlook the falsified paperwork."

But Jacob said nothing. He remained as immobile as a stone gargoyle, staring down into the empty, shallow square.

Pondrains narrowed his eyes, enraged by Jacob's defiant silence.

"Get in there!" he bellowed, spittle flying from his snout.

And without a word of protest, the duck climbed into the diminutive prison, having to curl his knees up to his chest to be able to fit himself inside.

The sergeant slammed the lid over the box, drowning Jacob in darkness, then stormed out of earshot, his footsteps light and carefree as if a huge problem had just been taken care of. A few seconds later, the muffled sound of someone whistling carried over to Jacob's clammy cell, and the only movement he could muster was to grit his teeth in fury.

* * *

Four days had passed. To Jacob, it seemed more like sixteen. The small slat that was the only other opening to the enclosure aside from the top had been locked from the outside. No one had come by to give him rations. In fact, he heard no one come by at all. For someone like Jacob, having absolutely no outside contact was enough to rattle him. Already the head and the loneliness had made him sick, and the lack of food had made him weak. He was growing increasingly dehydrated in the smoldering black box, and he longed to stretch his muscles from their cramped position. They were starting to spasm from the long disuse.

Just as he was beginning to rethink Pondrains' offer, he heard nimble footsteps outside, as if someone was carefully sneaking around and pausing every so often to make sure the coast was clear.

Suddenly the latch on the slat squeaked and clicked as someone pulled back the lock. Jacob's head shot up instantly only to slam against the hard wood of the lid. He cursed under his breath, tasting blood in his mouth. He had bitten his tongue.

The slat flipped up, allowing a thin, horizontal stream of sunlight to cascade into the cube. Even such a small amount was too much for Jacob, and he had to shut his eyes to dull the pain. When a head blotted out the sunlight, Jacob squinted through the thin opening, expecting to be met with Pondrains' jeering. Instead a concerned voice said, "Here. I thought you could use some of this. Put your beak up as far as you can."

It was Nelson. Jacob felt a flood of relief wash over him, and he lifted his bill as he was bidden. The end of a hose poked through the lifted slat, and a steady flow of water dripped past the feeble prisoner's lips. He lapped it up greedily.

"I wish I could do more. I would have been out here sooner, but Pondrains is watching us like a hawk. He's even made sure you don't get the rations that normally come with being out here. If only Hannigan knew what was going on, but Pondrains has got him eating out of his hand."

Hannigan was the director of SHUSH, nearing his retirement. He was well-renowned as being flighty and easily fooled.

"I'll try to come back in a couple of days," continued Nelson as he stood up to reel the hose back in.

As the water nozzle retreated, Jacob made a word of protest.

"Hey now," Nelson returned, "you didn't think we'd leave you hanging, right? Don't you worry none about us. You might not believe it, but we can handle Pondrains on our own. If I can't get out here again, you can bet one of us will."

Jacob opened his mouth again, but Nelson beat him to it.

"And don't thank me. You'd do the same for me, if I was the one in there."

For the remaining duration of Jacob's solitary confinement it continued that at least every other day one of his fellow trainees would sneak away from Pondrains' watchful eye and bring him water, bits of food, a small flashlight he could hold up with his teeth, and even some reading material he was able to wedge between his legs and chest.

After Nelson's first visit, Jacob's time in the tiny cell seemed to fly by until at last the lid was finally thrown back, reintroducing the prisoner to the outside world. The flashlight fell from between his lips, the issue of _Playduck_ he had been looking at still positioned on his legs. His eyes shrank to slits in the overpowering sunlight, but even so he could make out the figure of the drill sergeant above him – a hulking mass of muscle, quivering with rage.

"_Mallard!_" he shrieked, snatching up the magazine. "What the hell is _this_!"

Jacob scrambled to his feet, but his muscles weren't yet used to the movement, and he crumpled to his knees, leaning against the hated black box for support.

"I subscribe for the articles, honest!" he quipped, though his voice was faint and weak. His body may have been broken, but his mind was as sharp as ever.

Pondrains tore the magazine to shreds, teeth bared. "My office. _Now._"

"Shouldn't we get him to the medical ward first, sir? After all, he hasn't moved or had any suitable nourishment in two weeks," Nelson ventured, looking Jacob over with a mixture of worry and admiration. Indeed, many of Jacob's bones were visible beneath the shrunken, starved feathery flesh. He didn't smell like a bed of roses, either.

His initial anger calming, Pondrains regained himself. "Yes, I suppose Mallard could do with a little patch-up before I can thoroughly reprimand him. Needler! McKain! Take Mallard to the infirmary. The rest of you maggots get to the laboratory for your final lesson before graduation exams! _Move!_"


	6. Mission: Improbable

Disclaimer: J. Gander Hooter and Professor Waddlemeyer are © The Walt Disney Company. Jacob Mallard, Director Hannigan, and all other characters unless otherwise mentioned are © me, Amanda Rohrssen. No stealing or using these characters without express written consent, or else the Boogeyman will steal your firstborn child! He and I are like this. crosses fingers

* * *

Jacob had just turned seventeen when he graduated from St. Canard High, and was in the middle of his twentieth year when he received his college diploma. He had double majored in biochemistry and criminal justice, and had graduated with distinction. Some of his professors proclaimed he was a genius. Others protested, saying he was lazy, unmotivated, careless, and didn't respond well to authority. The truth was they were all right.

At SHUSH Jacob was following in his father's footsteps, but in title only. SHUSH was a family tradition dating all the way back to its establishment in the early twentieth century. But unlike his father or his father before him, Jacob would be a man unlike any SHUSH had ever acquired before. Great and terrible things lay ahead, things even all of Jacob's self-confidence and intelligence couldn't prepare him for. He had barely been able to graduate, and had pulled through by the skin of his teeth on the final exams. He had more demerits than any SHUSH cadet in the history of the organization.

But for the time being, all that mattered to this young and impetuous mallard was that he had finally graduated from a lowly cadet to a full-fledged agent, and in his hands he held the world. The golden badge of SHUSH now clutched tightly in his fingertips represented to him all of the hopes and dreams and freedoms he had longed to realize since he'd been a child. It was the key to adventure and intrigue and danger, and it filled him with the kind of thrill that only such esoteric relics could. He was a SHUSH agent.

"Jacob Mallard, look at you!" a boisterous voice blared above the busy hum of voices that filled the area. "Managed to get your badge, demerits and all, eh?" A rather large duck lumbered toward him and threw an arm around his neck jovially.

Jacob smirked good-naturedly. "Hey, demerits and all, I'm _still_ the best they've got," he returned. "How ya been, you old coot?"

"Reclusive and obsessive, what else?" the older mallard shrugged helplessly. He had tufts of graying hair that protruded wildly from his round head, and his ample middle gave him the appearance of a large teddy bear. "But come, I have something to show you!"

"What, now?" Jacob replied in disbelief, indicating the crowd around him. The ceremony had only just finished.

"What better time than the present?"

"…Is it about the you-know-what?"

The scientist had been promising to show Jacob something for weeks now.

The eccentric-but-overly-friendly looking duck nodded energetically.

"Well then, what are we waiting for? Let's blow this pop-stand."

* * *

Since his induction as a recruit into SHUSH, Jacob had developed a particular preference for spending his free time in or around the top-secret SHUSH laboratory, and that was where he had met Professor Waddlemeyer. They had formed a bond almost instantly – the scientist showing Jacob all of his latest inventions and Jacob providing his input, which the doctor was very grateful for. There weren't many people who could operate on the same intellectual level as him, and it was through the doctor's insistence that Jacob was even allowed into the lab at all.

Over the course of his training, Jacob had become very fond of Prof. Waddlemeyer, and he admired him in many, many ways.

"Ah, here it is," the professor chirped merrily as he led Jacob into the laboratory and he plucked the topmost roll of paper from the mess on his desk.

While Jacob unraveled it, the professor continued in as serious a voice as he could manage, "This is my life's work, Jacob. I've finally perfected the design! No one else has ever laid eyes on it but me. Tell me what you think of those specifications...Will it work?"

Studying the blueprint intently, Jacob nodded his head appreciatively as his eyes moved over the careful calculations and chemical processes needed to make the device outlined operate. When it came to written English and artistic creativity, Jacob was not exactly an expert, but when it came to math and chemical science, he was your mallard.

"This is amazing, Prof. Waddlemeyer - using the helium and phosphate compound to generate a tractor beam...this will be a breakthrough in military science! What do you call it?"

The professor's chest swelled with pride. "I call it The Ramrod." Like an eager young schoolboy, Prof. Waddlemeyer leaned over Jacob's shoulder to point out everything as he spoke, finally able to share his excitement with someone who could appreciate it. "And not only is it a tractor beam, but it can levitate objects more than a hundred times its weight _and_ it can rip apart stone walls! The use of cranes and pulleys and wrecking balls will be a thing of the past! My Ramrod will be able to do in hours what demolition crews take days - even weeks - to accomplish!"

"Yeah, it'll be great use in destroying and infiltrating enemy bases, too!" Jacob added fervently.

"Now, now, my boy," Prof. Waddlemeyer interjected reproachfully. "It is not my intention that The Ramrod will be used by SHUSH at all, for _any_ purpose like that. My machine will be used for the good of mankind, not to help destroy the values we're supposed to be upholding. It's designed to be something used by construction workers, not SHUSH agents or military personnel."

Jacob frowned, obviously disappointed.

"But Professor...what if it falls into the wrong hands? What if F.O.W.L. were to get a hold of it? Wouldn't it make more sense to hit them with it first and utilize its abilities before they have the chance to use it against _us_?"

Prof. Waddlemeyer shook his head with a chuckle. "Jacob, my boy, you're missing the point! I'm not going to build The Ramrod here at SHUSH. I'm going to build it at my own lab. Then I'm going to sell the blueprints to various demolition firms. F.O.W.L. won't touch it."

Jacob looked dubious. It seemed the doctor had a lot of faith in society and in men. Jacob, however, did not. Prof. Waddlemeyer smiled reassuringly.

"Besides, I'm going to build in an arming code. No one can even use it without knowing that code."

The sad thing was that all of Prof. Waddlemeyer's plans for his machine would fall by the wayside in a few decades. He would spend the rest of his life working on and perfecting The Ramrod only to be killed before his dream was fully realized. The device would be sent to storage in a federal holding facility without it ever being unveiled for public use. The arming code would remain a mystery.

Still not satisfied, but not wanting to push the professor's patience, Jacob sighed and looked over the blueprints again.

"Did you know your concentration of hypochloric acid that you've drawn in here would be much too acidic to be contained in that chamber there? You'd have to make sure to line it with very thick glass so it won't eat through that tube. Also, it looks like the numbers you have for the dimensions on the barrel are going to shift the weight and make the whole thing fall forward, so what I'd do is increase the thickness of the base here and maybe add a small platform in case someone of normal stature wants to use it, since you've set the measurements so that only giants can use it." He smirked. He often bantered with the professor about height issues. Jacob was a fairly tall mallard, but Prof. Waddlemeyer towered over even him.

"Good, good," Prof. Waddlemeyer nodded approvingly. "You've caught all of the minor errors I purposely put in there to keep you on your toes." He took the blueprints back from Jacob and went over to a nearby drafting table to fix what Jacob had suggested.

Jacob shook his head. Even though the professor played it off as intentional, Jacob knew him well enough to know that when he got excited about his work he tended to rush things and make a few mistakes along the way. But the professor had too much pride to admit it, and Jacob had too much respect for him to point it out.

"There, now that should be satisfactory for you midgets to be able to reach the controls," Prof. Waddlemeyer teased as he rolled up the blueprints and replaced them on his dishevelled desk.

"Fee-fie-foe-fum," Jacob countered maliciously.

Prof. Waddlemeyer smirked at him.

"How's the family?" Jacob asked, looking around the lab in a kind of wistful way, knowing he wouldn't be spending as much time in his beloved part of SHUSH as he was used to.

"They're good. My wife just gave birth to our second son, Peter. Quite a head of red hair he's got."

Jacob nodded curtly, having no real interest in family life.

"And you? What are you going to do now that you're an agent? Have you received your first assignment yet?"

"Not yet, but the director said he'd hand out assignments within the next couple of days," Jacob replied calmly, though it was clear that inside he was a bundle of anxiety and excitement.

"Are you still hanging around that little guy with the stubby legs?"

"What, you mean John?" he laughed. "John and I are going to be partners. We've planned that since college!"

Just then the laboratory door opened, turning both their heads.

"Speak of the devil," Jacob grinned. "How does it feel to be a SHUSH agent, John? And at the top of our troop, no less?"

"I knew you'd be in here," said J. Gander as he shut the door behind him, disregarding Jacob's questions. "Especially when I didn't find you by the women's table out there."

"Eh, I've slept with 'em all," Jacob replied impishly, then darted his eyes toward Prof. Waddlemeyer nervously.

The professor feigned innocence and busied himself with "organizing" his desk. "I heard nothing."

Jacob grinned again, relieved.

"So, do you want to eat dinner later? You know, to celebrate getting out from under Sergeant Pondrains' thumb?" John asked hopefully. He hadn't had the chance to spend much time with Jacob since before Jacob had been in solitary.

"I can't, John, I already have plans for dinner…with Charlotte, Gail, and Angela."

"Together?"

"Of course not."

"Oh...well, okay then. See ya tomorrow."

"Later."

While Jacob turned swiftly around to pore over some other invention of Prof. Waddlemeyer's, John exited the laboratory with his head hung, feeling put out, lonely, and rejected.

* * *

"Here you go, boys, your first assignment," Director Hannigan quavered, his old voice rattling like an old Ford engine. The piece of paper he held out toward them shook, and it became painfully obvious to both neophytes that the director was quite a few years past his retirement date.

Jacob took the note and scanned it eagerly. His face fell in barely-concealed disappointment.

"A bomb threat?" he said with disdain, as if he couldn't be bothered with something so trivial. "Our first assignment is a bomb threat? What about traveling overseas thwarting evil plots and meeting exotic women?"

The doddering director smiled kindly. "There'll be plenty of time for that later, when you've proven yourself capable."

"With all due respect, sir, haven't I proven myself capable by making it through training?"

He could see John stiffen in his peripheral vision as he questioned Director Hannigan. J. Gander had never been one to question authority. In fact, he avoided it at all costs. He didn't want to make waves. Jacob, however, believed that a mallard never got anywhere in life without pushing the limits, and no one ever pushed anything without causing a few waves in his wake.

The old goat was quiet for some time, turning Jacob's comment over in his mind. His enormous horns curled toward the two new agents as he lowered his head, and then the flicker of a smiled curled across his wrinkled jaw.

"Fair enough. How about a bomb threat with an important hostage?" Seeing Jacob's face brighten considerably, he continued, "The mayor was abducted thirty-six hours ago. The bomb squad and the police have been negotiating with the bombers to no avail. They say they've made entrance into the building impossible. There are only a few hours remaining before the bombers say they will blow up the Mandarin Hotel, taking the mayor with it. I was going to send a few of my best men to infiltrate the hotel, but I believe you two will do nicely."

"You can count on us, sir," Jacob said confidently with a gleam of excitement in his eyes. He shook the director's hand and turned to leave.

J. Gander followed, trying to swallow, only to find that his throat had gone dry.

"Good luck, Agent Mallard and Agent Hooter," the director's shaky voice called after them. "You're going to need it…"

The Mandarin Hotel was a posh resort located on the north end of town amidst glamorous department stores and lush health spas and gyms that only the uppermost of the uppercrust could afford. Naturally, every single news van was on the scene and there were hundreds of bystanders. Jacob's ego soared at the thought that he might be on the six o'clock news.

Weaving through the curious crowd, Jacob and his partner made their way to the front and ducked under the yellow police tape, flashing their new badges proudly.

"What's the current situation?" Jacob inquired importantly to the nearest police officer, who happened to be the chief.

The man lowered his megaphone and stared at Jacob as if he'd asked the stupidest question on earth. "What, they never heard of 'debriefing' at SHUSH? There are five of them on the fourteenth floor holding the mayor and a few others hostage. There's a bomb they've planted in the basement big enough to blow the hotel and a few of the surrounding blocks to kingdom come. Our boys can't get in there to diffuse the bomb without one of the gunmen spotting them. We've tried every way inside, and each time they've spotted us and threatened detonation unless they receive three million dollars. Who's ever _heard_ of that much money?" The chief shook his head wearily and rubbed his forehead. "We've even tried negotiating for the release of some of the hostages, but they won't budge. That's why we called in SHUSH. So, what's your plan?"

The chief didn't leave much time for thought, but time wasn't exactly something they had a lot of right now. Jacob turned the parameters of the situation over and over in his mind, trying to decipher a hole into which they could worm themselves and foil the bombers' plans.

"An aerial ambush?"

"The helicopters took on too much damage when they got close. The bombers seem to have their hands on some machine guns. We didn't want to risk anything happening to the mayor if we tried anything more severe. They were already threatening to kill a couple of the hostages when we pulled the choppers out, and our men can't get near the building without them knowing. I'll bet they've got men posted at every entrance site on the lookout. They seem to be able to communicate well with each other, too, which I can only assume means they have walkie-talkies. I'll be damned if I know how they got their hands on all this equipment. Most of it is standard military issue only."

"An inside job?" Jacob inferred.

The police chief shrugged. "It's possible. But our main concern now isn't who they are or how they accomplished this. It's to get the mayor and the rest of those hostages out alive without blowing up the hotel in the process."

Jacob nodded, already mulling over what few options they had left. The police had tried infiltrating by air and had tried finding a way in through the windows and doors, but had only succeeded in making the gunmen more agitated. In all this tension it wouldn't be long before either the gunmen got what they wanted or the hotel was diminished to rubble along with the innocent hostages. There was only one thing left to try.

"Chief?"

"Yes?"

"Have you got any nose plugs?"

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Jacob, John, and about five armed policemen were sloshing through the sewer ways beneath the city wearing rubber boots, rubber pants, and miner helmets complete with lights on them. In front of Jacob was a map of the network of tunnels to decipher which manhole they needed to climb through to end up in the Mandarin Hotel's basement. That was the idea, anyway.

"Jacob," J. Gander complained, his voice sounding pinched due to the clothespin perched over his nostrils, "this isn't one of your better ideas."

"Come on, John, where's your sense of adventure?"

"I think I left it in my other pants," John muttered. "Besides, where's the adventure in trudging around in excrement? It smells like poo-gas down here."

Smirking, Jacob took out his nose plugs and inhaled a big whiff of the rancid air. "Ahhh," he sighed, smiling boyishly. "Remind me when we get back above ground to see if there's any 'Essence of Poo-gas' cologne. We could corner the market, John."

The policemen in the back snickered. J. Gander, however, rolled his eyes. When was Jacob going to grow up?

"Okay, this should be it," said Jacob, stopping at the base of a set of horizontal rails that disappeared up into the darkness of the manhole above. It was a ladder, of sorts. He rolled up the map and stuck it in his back pocket before heading up the steps eagerly. John hesitated. The metal bars jutted straight out of the grimy stone and were thick with slime and who-knew-what-else.

"Agent Hooter?" one of the policemen goaded, making J. Gander aware that he was holding up everybody else.

Curling his bill slightly, the gander pulled out a handkerchief and used it as a barrier between each rail and his hand as he began to ascend after Jacob.

"All right, we're in," Jacob whispered as soon as they had all made it to the top. "I want you three to go up the side stairwell, you two search down here for the bomb – and notify me when you find it – John, you're with me. We're going to free those hostages. And men…shoot to kill. We don't want any of their wounded to give away our position."

While the officers carried out Jacob's orders, he and John crept together through the murky basement light toward the elevators. As they ascended to the fourteenth floor, where they knew the hostages were being held, Jacob radioed the police chief below to send reinforcements through the sewer, then to hold position until his signal. He didn't know how many of these lunatic gunmen there were. A brash 'ding' sounded, and the metal doors parted to reveal two men holding automatic rifles aimed right at them.

"Oh look," Jacob said sarcastically, "the welcome wagon." Then without another word, he bellowed, "_Duck!_" and lunged into action, grabbing the gun barrels and forcing them upward right as they went off.

Meanwhile J. Gander, who was not a duck and therefore had not misinterpreted Jacob's order, darted around the two gunmen while Jacob kept them busy and began looking for the room in which the hostages were being held.

"Didn't your mothers ever tell you not to play with guns?" Jacob quipped, trying to wrestle the gun away from one of the men while simultaneously defending himself from the other.

Finally the second one got smart and pulled back out of Jacob's reach before taking aim. A split second later, Jacob yanked the other man between them like a shield. Gunfire echoed down the hallway, reverberating like a clap of thunder. The man before Jacob crumpled to his knees. Before the shooter could make a second attempt, Jacob un-holstered his own gun and fired.

With a triumphant sneer, Jacob looked down at the two men bleeding profusely at his feet.

"I never listened to my mother either."

Stepping over the bodies, Jacob headed in the direction of his friend, hoping they'd find the hostages before reinforcements were sent. He knew that the gunfire had given away their presence, and it was possible that the hostages were now in even more danger.

Gun at the ready, the novice agent crept down the vacant hallway, ears attuned for any noise.

"Over here," John's voice hissed from inside one of the darkened hotel rooms.

Without a second thought, Jacob pushed open the slightly ajar doorway and stepped inside.

"Where are you?" he whispered.

"Over here," came the reply from the far corner.

Jacob tried the light switch. Nothing happened.

"Why are you back here? We've got to find the mayor."

"Oh, don't worry," a strange voice purred slyly out of the darkness directly to Jacob's left, "you've found him."

The lights suddenly came on, flooding the small room. All of the hotel furniture had been piled against one of the walls, and at least six or seven hulking figures towered over a group of cowering civilians. Jacob had found the hostages.

"Looking for your friend?" the same strange voice continued.

Jacob turned to see a mass of blubber valiantly being contained by a white suit that was at least three sizes too small, and gripped in one of the blob's plump hands was John, hanging by his collar and looking for all the world like a frightened child.

Immediately, Jacob lowered his gun. He'd been had.


	7. A Matter of Time

Disclaimer: J. Gander is copyright The Walt Disney Company. I am in no way making a profit off of this story, unless you count creative stimulation.

Jacob Mallard and all other characters mentioned are copyright me, Amanda Rohrssen. Do not use without permission. I know voo-doo!

I do not claim to know anything about bombs. This is all fictionalized; not every element must be realistic or true to fact. In other words, it's a story, so have fun with it. :)

Also, I'd like to add that this chapter is a special tribute to one of my favorite TV shows, Law & Order: SVU.

* * *

Narrowing his eyes, Jacob snapped, "Don't you have enough hostages already?"

"The entire _city_ is my hostage!" the mound of fat countered, its miniscule eyes sparking stubbornly beneath pudgy eyelids. "Take his weapon and put him with the others!"

Two of the massive figures lumbered forward and snatched Jacob's gun out of his hand before shoving him to the ground among the hostages. J. Gander's small form was dumped beside him moments later.

"How many more have the authorities sent in?" demanded the quivering pile of fat in the white suit.

John looked at Jacob worriedly. Jacob merely scowled up at the beady set of eyes without opening his beak.

"_Well?_" the piggish voice squealed angrily.

Jacob's jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth together defiantly.

The bulk smiled, a thin line spreading between the folds of skin, and nodded curtly toward John with a sly glare. "If you will not tell me, then perhaps your friend might."

Fortunately for the gander, Jacob's radio crackled to life, the static cutting into every other word as one of the police officers reported in.

"…found…bomb…ment…know…disarm…no one…send…call?...Copy?...Stabler and…wait…out."

The fat man's melon-shaped face widened into a grin, his yellowed teeth glinting repulsively in the light of the hotel room. "So, at least two of your men have found our bomb, eh? I have but to radio a few of my men and they will detonate it before you bat an eye. No man in the world could disarm it. I'm through playing games with your police chief. Say goodbye to this budding metropolis."

He waddled from the room, jiggling with each floor-shaking step he took. The men he'd left guarding the hostages eyed each other warily. Apparently they hadn't signed up to be blown to smithereens.

"Do you think he means it?" one said agitatedly, which sparked a harried discussion about what course of action to take.

While the guards were busy arguing, Jacob looked at his friend firmly and hissed, "Now quick, get back down to the basement and disarm that bomb."

"Me?" J. Gander squeaked hoarsely.

"Hey, you paid a hell of a lot more attention in Explosive Deactivation than I did!"

"But that doesn't make me an expert, Jacob!" John whispered insistently.

"There isn't time to argue about this, John. Our window of time is shrinking by the second. There's not a more qualified man here. Now get out while they're distracted! I'll move the hostages to safety."

The goose raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"Let me worry about that. Go!"

Hesitating only a moment more, J. Gander waited until the guards were so overly engrossed in their debate that they didn't notice him scuttling out of the room.

Jacob wasted no time in taking advantage of the situation and lunged forward, snatching the nearest guard's pistol from his holster. Seconds later he'd fired, and the felled gunman was dabbing at a surface wound on his shoulder where the bullet had grazed his skin.

"The next one of you who so much as sneezes gets to lose an appendage. Now let's all be good boys and girls and give your weapons to the nice folks on the floor here. That's right. When I get back, we're all going to have a little chat."

Having now reversed the roles of hostages and gunmen, Jacob darted from the room in search of the blob in the tight suit. Every one of that pudgy nightmare's men would be on the lookout now.

He didn't bother being cautious. Weapon in hand, he raced down the hallway, bill tilted slightly into the air.

A sharp bark, then a barrage of gunfire whizzing just over Jacob's head as he dove into a somersault. Two gunmen had been lying in ambush just inside of opposing hotel rooms. Like a cat, Jacob landed on his feet, whipped around, and returned fire, managing to blow off one of the gunmen's trigger fingers. The other gun jammed, but the man lunged forward, intent on ramming the butt of his weapon into Jacob's head.

Jacob's pistol discharged again, the butt of the rifle mere inches from his face, and his attacker fell harmlessly to the side, blood spurting from his chest like a geyser, eyes wide, flesh growing more and more colorless by the second.

The man with the missing finger was gone. Jacob smirked and was about to continue his search for the fat man when something caught his eye.

The finger lay inches from the dying man at his feet. He scooped it up off of the ground and studied it for a few moments before pocketing it and racing down the hallway. That flabby worm couldn't be far. He had to get to him before he could radio for detonation.

All at once, Jacob skidded to a halt. Raised an eyebrow. Backed up two steps. Sniffed the air. Grinned.

The closed door gave in easily to his powerful kick, and he lunged forward low to the ground, weapon poised in front of him, aimed right between the lard-engulfed shoulder blades of the fat man.

"SHUSH agent! Freeze!" he barked.

"How did you find me?" squealed the tub of lard as he flopped around.

"You wear English Feather…the cheapest cologne on the planet," Jacob jibed spitefully. "Now put your hands in the air."

Every single fold of fat encased within the white suit jiggled in sync with the man's piggish giggle.

"What's so funny?" Jacob demanded, pulling back the trigger threateningly.

"You're too late, little SHUSH spy," the hulking blob taunted. "The countdown has begun, and only _I_ know how to disarm the bomb! In five minutes, the Mandarin Hotel and everything surrounding it will be nothing but rubble!"

"You're wrong! I've got the best specialists in this city working on it! When I bring you in you'll _wish_ you had been blown to pieces!"

"Is that so?" The fat man whipped out a handgun.

A single gunshot echoed through the room and down the hallway, reaching the ears of the hostages not too far away.

* * *

John made his way cautiously out of the elevator and back into the dingy luminescence of the lower level. It was eerily silent save for a steady dripping noise in the distance. He didn't like this one bit.

His gun began to quiver more and more in his hands the further he went. His steps grew slower, and his heart rate increased. Eyes wide, J. Gander swallowed and found that his throat had gone dry.

Loud popping noises suddenly exploded through the stillness in rapid succession. Gunshots.

The goose nearly jumped out of his skin, his cry of surprise drowned by the onset of the nerve-shattering din.

Silence again.

John's breathing grew heavy and shallow. He took a tighter hold on his weapon, trying to reassure himself with its presence.

He licked his lips.

"S-Stabler?" he called hesitantly. "Benson…?"

Nothing but a faint, muffled whispering met his ears.

Against his instincts, he continued to advance with his finger poised right over the trigger of his gun.

Two shuffled steps forward.

Nothing.

Two more.

Nothing.

"Ahhhhhhh!" A hideous shriek and a figure leapt out in front of him from around the next corner, dagger extended.

Fear reacted before thought, and John didn't even register the sound from his gun until it was already fading in his ears and the body of his assailant was sliding lifelessly down the wall. It had been a fatal shot to the heart.

John's entire body trembled as he stared down at the dead figure. He was almost afraid he'd shot one of the officers, but he knew he hadn't. Either way, it didn't take away the fact that he'd killed someone.

Blood was seeping through the black uniform, and J. Gander was glad he couldn't make it out very well. What bothered him was the open-eyed stare of the corpse. It had startling blue eyes, clear and bright as a tropical seashore, but they were glassy and empty with death. J. Gander couldn't tear his own eyes away from them.

Trancelike, the gander crept toward the body and knelt down in front of it, gaping at its flaccid features even though it brought a queasy, anxious feeling to his stomach. Shooting targets and dummies was one thing, but shooting a living, breathing person was another.

John turned his head and retched.

Above the sound of his own choking and gasping, he could barely make out a garbled radio transmission coming from the dead man.

"_Commence detonation! Now!_" a high-pitched voice demanded amidst the static. Then nothing.

Hurried footsteps.

John wiped his beak hurriedly and gripped his gun, on his feet within seconds. His stomach protested, and he knew he was going to be sick again soon, if not from the memory of the repugnant corpse, then from the stress.

He found himself unable to swallow as he crept forward where he heard hushed voices hissing at one another. It sounded like they were arguing.

Peering cautiously around the corner he caught sight of two people hunched over a large box-shaped device with a timer on the top. It was set for five minutes. Just beyond them John could see a dark red pool of liquid. He didn't want to know what was beyond that. He could guess well enough. He was all that stood between victory and destruction.

He forced the bile in his throat back down as his body began to start shaking again.

_No,_ he declared silently to himself. _You can do this. Not doing it would prove everyone else right…that you're a coward and don't belong at SHUSH._

Surprising even himself, the trembling subsided. His fingers wrapped securely around his weapon as he emerged behind the two henchmen.

They noticed him almost immediately, but before either could react, John fired…and fired…and fired. Over and over the gunshots pierced the air, but John didn't seem to react to it at all. His eyes were hazy and wild, and he let out a savage scream above the roar of his gun.

Finally the clip was empty, and the goose stood over the bodies, chest heaving gutturally. The fierceness faded from his narrowed eyes, and he could barely believe the carnage at his feet.

He scarcely had time to let it sink in, however. The timer had begun, and he had less than five minutes to disarm the bomb.

* * *

Jacob pulled back the sleeve of his black shirt and looked at the time. Less than four minutes. He charged out of the room, leaving behind the massive, bloodied corpse of the fat man in his wake. As he ran he radioed the police chief to send choppers to the roof. There was no point in trying to get all of the hostages out of the main exit. There was no time.

"Everybody out!" he barked as he barreled into the hotel room where the hostages still huddled.

They looked at one another uncertainly, then began to rise slowly. In that instant, one of the guards they had been keeping at bay lunged for one of the guns.

Jacob fired, his bullet penetrating the guard's skull. The second guard put his hands up in surrender, but Jacob wasn't one to take any more chances. He shot him in the head as well without any qualms. So much for having a little chat with them.

"This way!" he urged the rest of them, waving an arm to hurry them along. The group of newly freed captives stared at the two dead bodies for a few moments before looking blankly at Jacob. "Now! To the roof!"

He pointed at a man dressed in a bellboy uniform. "You know how to get there, right? Good. Take everyone there. There should be some helicopters there to pick you up."

"But what about you, sir?" the bellboy asked with some concern in his adolescent voice.

"There's someone else I need to see though this," Jacob replied curtly. "Now go!"

Taking off without waiting around for more chitchat, Jacob glanced over his shoulder only once to make sure that the bellboy followed orders. He did.

Impatiently Jacob jammed his finger repeatedly on the elevator call button.

"Come on, come _on_!"

Three minutes.

The elevator opened with a cheerful 'ding', and Jacob dove inside and slammed his palm against the keypad for the lower level.

He spoke into his communicator again as the elevator descended. "This is Mallard. If you can hear me, then get out of the building as quickly as possible. The bomb has been activated. We have three minutes to detonation. Chief? You might want to get your men and any bystanders as far away from this area as possible."

* * *

J. Gander studied the circuits and wires protruding from the innards of the bomb and tried to recall the training they'd received on bomb disarmament. Was it always pull the red wire or the blue one? His mind was racing so fast he could barely concentrate on anything except the timer.

Two minutes.

The nearness of certain doom wasn't helping to steady his thoughts. So many lives were resting on his shoulders. If he pulled the wrong one…

"John!"

Before the gander even registered the voice, his mallard friend was kneeling at his side.

"Where are Benson and -?"

He followed John's furtive glance toward two bodies that lay around the back of the bomb.

"Oh. I see."

Then Jacob's attention was returned to the bomb.

"Can you stop it?"

"I don't know," John responded hoarsely, a frightened look on his face.

"Okay, okay," Jacob said calmly, trying not to keep looking at how much time was remaining. "Just take a deep breath and try to remember Dr. Bellum's lectures. Didn't he say something specific about demolition bombs of this size?"

One minute.

"I don't know, I don't remember!" John cried, unable to tear his eyes away from the countdown.

"There was some stupid rhyme or limerick he made us memorize. I remember because that was the day I-"

"GREEN!" John shouted, lunging forward and ripping the green wire from its position and flinching just in case he was wrong.


	8. Flying Solo

Disclaimer: J. Gander Hooter is copyright The Walt Disney Company.

Jacob Mallard, Lolita, Director Hannigan, Director Bonaparte, Nelson, and any other character specified is copyright me, Amanda Rohrssen. No touchie!

Thanks again to all my reviewers! Your comments and critiques mean a lot. :)

* * *

"Get those people flown straight to Saint Canard Regional!" the police chief ordered over the radio waves to the helicopter pilot.

The entire squad and all the onlookers had moved back a couple of blocks around the perimeter of the Mandarin Hotel per Jacob's suggestion. The SHUSH agents and their small brigade were on their own now.

He glanced at his watch.

"Mallard? What is your status?"

The communicator returned nothing but unbroken static.

"All right men, everybody get back! This hotel's gonna-!"

"There he is, Chief!" one of the officers cried, pointing toward one of the side fire doors.

Out strode Jacob Mallard, a triumphant smile on his face. The entire crowd erupted in a thunderous cheer and surged forward to get a better glimpse of the hero of the hour. Even the police joined in, not bothering to enforce crowd control. At the forefront of the mob was about half a dozen reporters and their television cameras.

Thrusting their microphones in his face, the reporters clamored:

"What's your name, sir?"

"How did you do it?"

"What happened to the terrorists?"

Immediately the chief of police pushed his way through the throng of journalists and stood in front of Jacob.

"The situation is well in hand now. The bomb has been diffused and the hostages are safe –"

"Thanks to Agent John Hooter and myself," Jacob interjected, side-stepping from around the chief.

At that same moment, the diminutive figure of J. Gander emerged, two police officers from their group and one of the bombers behind. The henchman was gripping a finger protectively – or at least where one would have been.

Jacob smirked at the man, who glowered at him in return upon recognition.

"There's one of your culprits, Chief," Jacob announced, motioning toward the man being escorted out of view. "He'll tell you all you need to know about a certain Mr. Mince smuggling munitions pieces out of the military branch at Tinker Air Force Base…" He grinned haughtily, but the police chief just glared before stalking after the man in custody.

Left alone with the newscasters, Jacob slung an arm around his friend's shoulders as he recounted the tale to the press. John's expression, however, remained downcast and unreadable.

* * *

The door swung open jovially the next morning as Jacob strode into the office he and John shared.

"Hey John," he said cheerfully, "you wanna grab a bite? I've got a good fifteen minutes before my meeting with Director Bonaparte. Oh yeah, did you hear that they finally canned old Director Hannigan?"

"Yeah, I also heard that Director Bonaparte's really short…though I guess I shouldn't say much," John responded in a distant tone of voice. "And normally I would jump at the chance to eat something, but I'm a little busy…as you can see."

John was hunched over a box, organizing a few things inside of it before gathering more to set inside. Jacob hardly paid attention.

"Oh, well, did you at least read the paper today? The mayor's going to give us _medals_, John! _Medals _for our first victory! Isn't that great!"

"Yeah…great."

Jacob frowned at J. Gander's lack of enthusiasm.

"What's the matter? Hey…why are you packing up?"

The goose paused with a heavy sigh, his eyes downcast. "I'm no good to the organization out in the field," he said with deliberation. "You saw the way I choked…I'm sorry, Jacob…but I'm not like you. I can do more good behind a desk. I put in for a transfer to the administrative department, effective immediately."

* * *

"Agent Mallard, have you heard a word I said?" snapped Director Bonaparte, his large, slanted eyes darkening in warning.

He had assumed the role of director just yesterday. He was a stone-faced, no nonsense kind of man – the kind who took everything much too seriously and did everything by the book. Jacob already couldn't stand him. John, however, thought very highly of him.

"Yes, sir," Jacob replied tersely, lifting his eyes from the posh maroon carpet.

But Jacob hadn't heard anything the new director had said beyond "You must follow these rules to the letter…"

He was too busy wondering why in hell John wouldn't want to stay in the field. They'd talked about being partners for _years_, why had he chosen _now_ to back out? Jacob wasn't worried for himself. He knew he could hold his own and still show SHUSH a thing or two about what a _real_ agent should be. But he'd wanted to do it with his best friend at his side.

For the first time in his charmed life, things hadn't gone the way he'd wanted, and it bothered him. A lot. It would be the first of many disappointments.

"Mallard!"

The sharpness in the director's tone cut into Jacob's thoughts, and he looked up.

"I've looked at your file, and I'll be completely frank with you. I don't like you. I don't like you _at all_. You're unscrupulous, undisciplined, disrespectful, and injudicious, but for some reason former Director Hannigan and a few other high-ranking officials here see some potential in you. Don't prove them wrong."

"I won't, sir," Jacob said evenly, knowing that this would be the first of many tense conversations he would have with Director Bonaparte.

Minutes later he was strutting down the hallway, his discontent over John's untimely transfer gone, and Director Bonaparte's obvious disdain for him not concerning him in the least. He was like a watered-down version of Sergeant Pondrains; Jacob knew he could handle him.

The thought of his new assignment brought a self-assured grin to his youthful face. He gave a nod to a passing female agent, who ducked her head and sped up, blushing. Jacob could not wait until his shift was over. He was ready for a night on the town.

With an air of accomplishment, Jacob pushed open the swinging door to the break room and strode toward the coffee pot.

"What's with you, Mallard? Get a good lay last night?"

"Even better, Nelson," Jacob replied smugly. "The director's sending a unit to Cuba to infiltrate a communist military base, and guess who he put in charge?"

"No way," Nelson said with surprise. "You lucky son of a gun. Why Cuba?"

"SHUSH intelligence believes that the Reds are hiding some nuclear weapons in warehouses on the base. We're going to scout it out and see if it's true."

"And if it is?"

Jacob grinned. "We get to blow some Commies away."

"That's some pretty heavy stuff."

"I can handle it."

"Oh, I know you can," Nelson grinned. "I'm just worried about all those poor Cubans."

Jacob flashed an impish smirk. "Hey, McCarthy ain't got nothin' on me!"

* * *

Right after his shift, Jacob headed directly to what was quickly becoming his favorite hangout: The Old Haunt.

"Not sittin' at the bar tonight?" The bartender observed as he passed by Jacob's booth, a dishrag in his hand as he busily cleaned a beer stein.

"Not tonight, Charlie, I'm expecting company, if you know what I mean." He smiled suggestively.

Charlie just shook his head with a wry expression. "If you're bringin' in another new one, that'll make five in the past month. What you got, some kinda new cologne just reelin' 'em in?"

Jacob chuckled. "Just using the old charm, Charlie. You ought to give it a try sometime. I could give you a few pointers."

The barkeep only smiled. "We'll see, sir. I like to keep my options open."

"Me too, Charlie," said Jacob as Charlie wandered back behind the bar. "Me too."

A quarter of an hour later, Jacob downed another double bourbon and smiled suavely at what was his fifth new girlfriend of the week. Right now he was juggling about eight total. It was an outrageous amount of luck and time management on Jacob's part that not a one of them knew about the other. Yet.

"So, Michelle…can I get you another drink?" he asked smoothly, popping a piece of ice into his mouth and letting it melt on his tongue.

The young redhead opened her mouth to answer, but Jacob's attention had shifted to a slender hourglass-shaped figure dressed in a tight, flaming red dress. She was standing right at the end of their table and had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Jacob inhaled a little too sharply and the piece of ice shot into the back of his throat. While he gagged helplessly, eyes bulging in quite an unsophisticated manner, Lolita folded her arms over the red satin of her dress.

"So, this is why you never call me," she said in her thick Russian accent. "And why you avoid me in the hallways at SHUSH."

"What?" Jacob managed to choke out once the ice had sufficiently melted and somewhat cleared his airways. "I don't avoid you…I've just been busy."

"Who's this?" Michelle cut in, looking Lolita over with a curled lip.

"Nobody, just an old girlfriend," Jacob said hurriedly.

"Actually, we never really broke up. After a night of lustful romance, he stopped returning my phone calls."

Michelle's questioning expression suddenly fell on Jacob. It felt suddenly warm in the tavern. He pulled at the collar of his shirt.

"Well, I…lost your number. That's all." Then he looked at Michelle imploringly. "But that was a long time ago, I've moved on. She means nothing to me now."

"My number isn't all you 'lost'," Lolita sneered spitefully, pulling a small black book out of her purse.

Jacob's face instantly paled.

"Where did you get that?" The question tumbled from his bill before he could stop it.

"You left it that night in my place; you were in such a hurry to leave." She folded her arms, a scowl marring her otherwise beautiful, flawless face. "…I wonder what would happen if all your girlfriends found out about each other…and the way you treat women." She smiled then. A twisted, cunning smile that, had it been any other moment, would have turned Jacob on.

"What is she talking about?" Michelle pressed, her voice strained and her brows knitted.

Jacob shifted in his seat nervously, ignoring Michelle's question in the hopes of never having to answer it. Yet he still managed to smirk and reply evenly to the Russian, "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," retorted Lolita with a flip of her hair. "By this time next week there won't be a single woman in Saint Canard who will so much as bat an eyelash at you."

He shrugged carelessly, though he was anything but. Still, he wasn't about to back down to Lolita's scheme. He would not be blackmailed.

"All the numbers in there are old anyway," he lied. "None of the girls in there will care what you have to say."

The truth of the matter was that he was still currently seeing a few of the women in that book, and a few others he'd recently broken it off with. It would be bad for the business of romance if old girlfriends were continuously popping up and harassing him for an explanation of why he hadn't called them. Worse yet, if Lolita revealed his lack of commitment and his desire to merely sleep with as many women as possible, he knew a few old flames who would be out for blood.

Yet he remained unfettered at his core. He was confident enough that he could make new girlfriends if worse came to worse. He had a knack for sweet talk and could charm his way out of capital punishment, if the executioner happened to be a lady. He folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in the booth, looking rather like a feathery Huckleberry Finn.

Lolita scowled at him, her stony face settling into cold resolution. "We shall see."

His coal black eyes followed her out of the bar, a self-assured smirk on his face.

"What did she mean by girlfriends?" Michelle prodded suspiciously from across the table.

Jacob just smiled, shook his head, and picked up the drink menu. "So…how about a little Sex on the Beach?"


	9. Penpals

The next week was hell for Jacob Mallard. Dates he'd set up cancelled on him. Dates he attempted to set up were denied. All of his current girlfriends would not answer his calls, slammed doors in his face, called him less-than-ladylike names, and his cheeks were continuously stinging from being slapped in disgust and anger. This would have amused Jacob immensely if not for the fact that it kept happening to him at every turn. Even women he didn't know soured the minute they found out his name, and he was growing tempted to start using an alias.

Shaking the rain from his trench coat, Jacob strode into a small bistro on the north end of St. Canard and was about to sit at his usual table until he spotted a familiar avian chatting with a friend in a nearby booth. He smirked voraciously and made his way toward them, smoothing back his hair as he went.

"Ladies," he crooned suavely. Then he nodded to address the woman he was already acquainted with. "Stacy."

The swan named Stacy turned up her beak. "What do you want, Mallard?"

"Why so formal? Have you forgotten my first name already?"

"You never returned my phone calls," she replied resentfully.

"Well, I've been thinking lately…what do you say we give things another go?" He leaned forward, resting his hands on their table. "We could take a walk in the park…catch a local stage production…I could help Tommy with his homework."

"How dare you bring Tommy into this!" she shouted, and before Jacob could recoil she'd thrown the ice cold water from her glass into his face.

Stunned, Jacob remained in his rigid stance for a few moments before blinking and wiping the liquid from his eyes.

"Okay," he sputtered, managing to maintain at least a little dignity. "I'll take that as a no…" Then he turned his alluring gaze to the other woman who had been watching with some amusement. "What about you, beautiful? Are you free later?"

Automatically her beak curled up and she folded her arms. "Not likely. At least not for you."

Jacob shrugged. "Well, in case you come to your senses, here's my number." He slipped a small card from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Thanks," she said flatly.

He appeared unaffected by her negative reaction and flashed her a charming smile, then nodded once again to Stacy before heading back toward his regular table.

Lolita really _had_ somehow gotten to every girl in the city. He stirred the coffee in front of him mindlessly. It had been a week since he'd seen any action, and it was driving him crazy. He had to keep reminding himself that he was leaving for Cuba bright and early the next morning, and it wouldn't be long before he could find a few new girls across the gulf.

The thought was at least a little gratifying, but it didn't do much to soothe the void he felt. As the last few bitter coffee grounds settled underneath his tongue, his bill curled up in distaste. A slim container of breath spray was out of his pocket within seconds, and he spritzed the inside of his mouth twice before flashing his waitress a come hither smile as she cleared away his empty coffee cup. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Jacob frowned slightly. His charm had always attracted women, not repelled them. It was a stinging blow to his ego, and he started to resent the fact that he had ever laid eyes on Lolita Yetka.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes and he would have to return to SHUSH. Mechanically, he swung his trench coat back over his shoulders and thrust his arms into the sleeves. Leaving a few bills on the table, he glanced up just in time to see a familiar figure walk past the front window of the bistro, her dark blonde hair bouncing down her back in lustrous waves.

He started to run after her, but got caught up in a couple of the chairs and nearly fell flat on his face. Spinning out of the entanglement, Jacob was off again with a quick, apologetic shout, throwing himself out of the restaurant and high-tailing it after the woman. As he burst through the doors, the sun finally peeked through the clouds for the first time in a week, and, for a moment, Jacob was blind.

"Gail!" he shouted above the roar of traffic. "Gail!" She ignored him and continued walking, her head held up high.

He knew he was going to have to do more than yelling her name to get her to speak to him again. Tires screeched to his left as the light changed red. Her shapely figure was disappearing across the street. A plan quickly formulated itself in his mind, and he smirked deviously before resuming his swift pursuit.

Just as she reached the middle of the street, he bellowed fearfully, "Gail! Look out!"

She paused and turned around to see Jacob Mallard barreling toward her. She was about to give him the cold shoulder, but in the next instant he'd slammed into her, throwing her to the sidewalk.

Breathing hard, her heart pounding in her breast, Gail looked up to see Jacob sprawled on top of her. She scrambled out from under him and smacked him mercilessly with her purse.

"Jacob Mallard, what are you _doing_!" she shouted in a piercingly high voice.

"I think I'm saving your life," Jacob replied with a grunt as he pulled himself slowly to his feet while simultaneously dodging her blows.

"Saving my life!" she repeated exasperatedly. "From _what_, may I ask?" A scowl crossed her petite face and she raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"From that maniac of a driver!" Jacob retorted, pointing in the direction the supposed maniac had gone. "Didn't you see that car? It almost _hit_ you!"

"Oh…" Gail said softly, as if just realizing exactly what had happened. Not two seconds later she was helping him get up, keeping him steady as he waited for his throbbing head to clear. "Well…thank you, Mr. Mallard, but I'm afraid I must be going."

"Gail, wait!" he demanded, reaching out to grab her wrist and stop her. It seemed his plan had worked only for a split second, but Jacob was determined to make that second worthwhile.

She looked down at his hand on her and then glared at him. "I know what you want, Jacob, and I'm not going to give it to you."

"But I thought –- I'm not -–" he stammered.

Gail had been the only one of his girlfriends with whom he hadn't gotten past more than the first kiss. Her resolve was unusually strong, and that surprised him considering she looked like such a small, frail, unsuspecting creature. He had expected her to swoon at the idea that he had just saved her life. Now, for once in his life, he wasn't quite sure _what_ to do.

"I just want to talk to you," he managed to say.

"What about?"

"Look, whatever you may have heard, have I ever treated you that way?"

"Well…" she thought hesitantly. "…No…no, I guess not. But you _were_ dating seven other women at the same time as you were dating me," she added matter-of-factly, folding her arms. There was a hard-set scowl on her face, and it took him by surprise. She should be fawning all over him by now, not putting up walls!

"Yes, I was," he replied truthfully. "But it'll be different this time, I promise! Just give me a chance."

"Give me one good reason, Jacob Mallard."

"Because despite everything, you still like me. And I still like you."

Though she tried to hide it, he still caught the delicate flush of her cheeks behind her small spectacles. It was time to make his move. Taking one step toward her, Jacob added softly, "I'm going on an important mission for SHUSH tomorrow out of the country…I probably won't be back here for a while…Could I maybe write you?"

He gave her his charismatic, boyish smile, and not even her bent head could hide her shy smile.

"Here's my address," she said breathlessly, taking out a receipt and scrawling on the back of it.

He took it from her gently, his fingers brushing hers as he did so. Her blush deepened, and she pulled back. Jacob grinned in response and felt a surge of pride and relief. He had won.

"I've got to go," she said hurriedly. "But you'd better make good on those letters…I don't give three chances."

He nodded with playful solemnity. "My lady, I wouldn't dream of letting you down again."

Watching Gail as she disappeared back into the crowd, Jacob couldn't seem to wipe the smile from his face. The plan had worked. Chivalry still had its beneficial uses, and it usually rewarded Jacob tenfold whenever he employed it. His charm was still in high gear, and he knew that as long as he still had one woman in St. Canard who actually believed he could be her "soul mate," he would be in the clear. After all, women had a lot of friends, and word spread pretty quickly through the gossip chain, especially when it came to sweet and thoughtful men. He'd be back in business in no time. All he had to do was write a few sappy letters and get her to believe he was actually in love with her. That way, even if he didn't end up breaking down her walls, he could reap the benefits. He just hoped Gail had a lot of gorgeous, single friends.

There would be one more briefing before the flight to Cuba the next morning, and Jacob was looking forward to getting out of the city. He'd lived in Saint Canard all his life, and now it was time for adventure, danger, exotic backdrops, intrigue…and with Gail's address tucked firmly in his breast pocket, twenty-two-year-old Jacob Mallard felt like he could take on the world.

* * *

_Author's Note: Sorry it's only a short one this time around. The next few chapters will be short as well, but I'll try to upload them in a group so that there isn't just, like, two paragraphs to read. Please bear with me! And thanks SO much to my readers. You guys are AWESOME. :)_

_This chapter is dedicated to Lael Adair, whose absolutely brilliant idea it was for there to be no car at all. :)_

_Jacob, Lolita, Gail, and any other character written in belong to me, Amanda Rohrssen. Please do not use them without my permission. If you do, I shall be forced to cut off your toenails and give them to an old gypsy woman, who will make sure you turn into something nice and nasty on the next full moon…_


	10. Letters

_May 1, 1959_

_Dear Gail,_

_Well, I made it here in one piece, and I'm confident I can return that way. Being in the Caribbean is a whole lot different than being in Saint Canard, and even though you're not here to enjoy the sunny beaches with me, I'm trying to have a good time. The locals here are especially accommodating, and we've set up camp on the outskirts of a small village. We're following through with our mission tomorrow morning before dawn. Wish me luck._

_Yours,_

_Jacob_

_P.S. You'll have to send your return letter to SHUSH, since I can't reveal my location. Don't worry; they'll get it to me.  
_

June 9, 1959 

Dear Jacob,

I'm glad you made it there all right, though I never doubted your ability to get out of a tough situation. And I'm sure you've had no problems finding company to keep you entertained at night.

The children are doing wonderfully in classes. We've moved on to learning about constellations, weather and climate, and about the Sun – some of my favorite subjects.

I hope everything goes well with your mission. Good luck.

Gail

_July 23, 1959_

_Dear Gail,_

_We accomplished what we came for, and the President himself wants to use our surveillance photos to plan an infiltration of the Communist bases here. Can you believe it? The President! I've been commended for my leadership skills and have already been given my next assignment, this time a solo mission. Looks like I won't be back home so soon after all._

_I miss you. But whenever I feel lonely I look up at the moon and it makes me feel better knowing you're looking up at the same one…well, except when our time zones aren't exactly aligned, but you get the idea. Now that I'm out here, I wish I'd have asked for your picture so I could look at it every night before I fall asleep. Oh well, I'll make due with memories until I next get the chance to see your beautiful face._

_Yours,_

_Jacob  
_

August 31, 1959

Dear Jacob,

Please don't use your empty flattery on me. I'm not one of your bar girls. In fact, I'd rather we keep these letters purely of a friendly nature.

That's wonderful news about the President. Be careful on your solo mission. I'll be thinking of you.

Gail

_September 19, 1959_

_Dear Gail,_

_I apologize if I offended you with my previous letter, but what I said was true. You're different than the other girls I've met, and I mean that in the most sincere way._

_How are your classes going? Have any of the particularly unruly students put a whoopee cushion in your chair? That was always my favorite thing to do to teachers when I was a kid. You, however – I'll bet you were a real straight-laced little lady who never got in trouble._

_The mission's going well, but I have to stay undercover. Can't say much else._

_Yours,_

_Jacob  
_

October 4, 1959 

Dear Jacob,

I would love to know what you were like as a boy. About your family and the dreams you had growing up. My class is thinking about their career choices right now, and I am having guest speakers in my classroom to talk about different jobs.

I didn't have any whoopee cushions, but I did have a frog put in my drawer. The poor thing now resides as our class pet. His name's Wart.

I never got into trouble when I was in school. I always got good grades and turned things in on time. It's no wonder I had few friends growing up. I was always pretty reserved, even boring at times. It makes me wonder why a guy like you would even bother writing letters to a girl like me.

Gail

_November 12, 1959_

_Dear Gail,_

_We're heading to theOrient now. Things are really picking up, but I love every minute of it. This is exactly the way I wanted my life to be._

_As for my childhood, well, there's not really much to tell. I have a little brother, Nick, who stuck to me like glue when we were kids. Our father was an ex-soldier, fought in World War I, and worked for SHUSH his entire life. He expected my brother and I to do the same, and when we weren't good little soldiers, well, let's just say it wasn't exactly all hugs and kisses. My mother was an alcoholic. I don't think I need to get into it more than that._

_The last time I saw my father was the day he tried to beat Nick because he'd failed one of his classes. I could take him pushing me around, but I wouldn't let him touch Nick, and that day I hit back. Turned tail and left home with Nick and never went back. And I've never been sorry._

_That was a long time ago. I've never told anyone that before. Do you want any kids of your own, Gail? What about traveling? I love traveling, which is what attracted me to SHUSH in the first place. I guess I followed in dear old Dad's footsteps after all._

_Let me know how you're doing, Miss Straight-and-Narrow. When I get back I may have to see if we can't make a little curve in your path._

_Yours,_

_Jacob  
_

February 16, 1960 

Dear Jacob,

I hope that you are staying cool, wherever you are, and that you are safe.

That's awful about your parents. I'm sorry for asking – it wasn't my place to pry.

I love to travel. In fact, I'm going on a trip next month to New Boarleans with my boyfriend, Thomas. I met him a couple of months ago, and I think I'm going to marry him. He's wonderful. I hope you can find someone like that for you in your adventures. It all sounds very exciting. Please keep me updated on how you are doing.

Best,

Gail

* * *

Author's Note: I know, kinda weird. But there you go. He said he would write her! They probably wrote more letters than what I actually wrote here, so please keep that in mind for the next chapter. I didn't want to drag this out for ahorribly and unecessarily long time. Also, sorry if they seem scrunched. The site keeps eating my formatting, so I just gave up on it. Hopefully it's not too confusing. 

Jacob Mallard & Gail Patonita are both © me, Amanda Rohrssen. Please do not use them without permission, or you shall live out the rest of your days in the Bog of Eternal Stench!


	11. Just Friends

**Disclaimer: **Same ol', same ol'. Jacob Mallardand Gail Patonita belong to moi. J. Gander Hooter is the property of Disney. No stealie.

**Author's Note:**Obviously I left out some correspondence between Gail and Jacob -- I only wrote what was pertinent. But the last letter of the chapter was the last letter sent between them. Sorry if it's confusing.

* * *

The weekend of March 29th, 1961 was Jacob's homecoming. He'd been globetrotting for a month short of two years, mission after mission keeping him on his toes and in perfect physical health. Though Jacob could never get enough of danger and intrigue, he had to admit that he was glad to see Saint Canard's cityscape against the waters of the Audubon Bay. The moment he stepped off of the jet, he'd stolen a lungful of salty air as it blew off of the glittering water. He was home.

Once he'd managed to get through the formalities of checking back in at SHUSH – and learning that he was up for a couple of the organization's most distinguished awards – he followed through with his own agenda, the real reason he'd opted to return to the city. And like most everything that Jacob Mallard did, it involved a woman. But this wasn't just any woman.

J. Gander didn't look up from the document he was reading, even for the knock at his door. He squinted at the hazy letters, waiting for them to focus. He was going to need glasses soon.

"Come in," he said indifferently, turning the document at another angle in the hopes of being able to read it better.

"John!" a boisterous voice shouted, and suddenly someone plucked him out of his seat and had him in a bear hug. "Been holdin' down the fort in my absence?"

J. Gander smiled. He'd recognize that arrogant tone anywhere.

"I wondered when you'd get tired of gallivanting around the globe and return to SHUSH. How do you like my new office?"

"Oh come now, you can't say you weren't expecting me. I got clearance and everything." Jacob's black eyes briefly wandered over the office, but it was apparent he was anything but interested.

"Yes, and that's saying something," J. Gander smirked. "What are you up to?"

"What makes you think I'm up to anything?" Jacob replied innocently.

"Call it a hunch. You wouldn't end your adventures so abruptly without a significant reason."

Jacob shook his head with a grin and lifted his hands up in defeat. "Okay, you got me. I need you to track down a girl for me."

J. Gander grimaced. "The last time you had me 'track down a girl' I got reprimanded for wasting company resources on personal issues." He looked at Jacob seriously. "I might be up for director someday, Jacob. I can't risk any more stains on my record."

"You only have _one_, John."

"One too many."

The mallard sighed. "Look, I don't need this right now," he said agitatedly. "Just tell me where to look and I'll get the information myself."

The little gander smirked knowingly. "Try the newspaper." He opened a drawer and removed a folded up paper he'd been keeping there.

Jacob looked dumbstruck for a moment, then a flash of indignation crossed his face.

"John, why are you being so unreasonable?"

But J. Gander pressed the issue. "No, you really should take a look at the paper. Page eight."

Jacob snatched the newspaper from his friend, muttering to himself under his breath about the unfairness of J. Gander's reluctance to use his influence to get him the information he wanted.

Turning to the page the goose had indicated, Jacob's eyes scanned over the page briefly.

"But John, these are wedding…"

His voice caught in his throat. A black and white photo in the middle of the page held the face of the woman who had haunted him during every mission he'd been through overseas. The woman whose mere handwriting seemed to take his breath away – and here she was taking his breath away again, but for a different reason. She was getting married.

The man next to her in the photo stared out at him, grinning like some twisted clown. Jacob's bill curled back into a snarl as he read the caption underneath the picture.

_Dr. Thomas Gregory Quailrip, M.D. to wed Gail Leigh Patonita._

"I saved it the minute I saw it…I'm sorry, Jacob. Sometimes you can't have everything you want."

But Jacob wasn't listening. He crumpled the paper in his hands until it was the size of a baseball, then hurled it on the floor.

"Yes I can," he said lowly as the door slammed behind him.

* * *

St. Michael's Cathedral was a beautiful gothic church near the center of the city, the envy of all other religious establishments. Surrounded by gardens, it was the most sought-after location for a wedding. The waiting list was years long.

The candles danced sensuously in the dim archways, their smoke trails entwining like lovers' fingers as they drifted lazily toward the etched, fresco-adorned ceiling. Organ music rang in joyous chords throughout the archaic architecture, beginning the ceremony.

The bride finished her journey toward the alter and took the groom's arm. She was a vision in white, her head shrouded in a veil of lace, and a few of her dark blonde curls peeked out from underneath the embroidered fabric. The handsome groom smiled down at her and just as his fingers moved to lift the veil, the church doors burst open and in ran a frazzled-looking mallard, the feathers on his narrow head splayed out ridiculously from running so fast. Lungs heaving, he sprinted down the aisle toward the surprised bride and groom.

"Stop the wedding!" he shouted desperately. "You can't marry him!"

He skidded to a stop in front of the veiled woman and took her hand.

"Gail, please…"

The woman reached up her other hand and lifted the veil over her head. Jacob stiffened.

"Who's Gail?"

* * *

Jacob stirred his coffee mindlessly. For the third time that week, he found himself at the bistro where he'd spent many of his dates with Gail.

The wrong wedding. He'd stopped the wrong wedding. And now she was married to someone else, probably enjoying her honeymoon at some tropical resort, a handsome young doctor at her side while he sat in the middle of a diner.

He didn't realize he was stabbing himself instead of his waffle until he had broken the skin. Inhaling sharply, he pulled out the prongs from his hand, leaving four tiny pools of blood in their wake. At least the sharp pain had dispelled the image he'd had in his mind.

He grabbed the napkin from his lap and plastered it over his hand, clenching his teeth together. What was he supposed to do now?

"Jacob?" a voice came from over his shoulder. "Jacob Mallard?"

"Go away," he snapped lowly. The last thing he needed was to be confronted with yet another scorned ex-girlfriend. He'd only been back a few days after two years overseas and already he'd had to confront four of them.

"Well," the voice continued firmly, "now I see why you stopped writing."

Startled, Jacob turned in the metal-backed chair and nearly fell over. Standing just beside him was Gail, her hair done up in a mound of curls that tumbled down her back and framed her pretty face.

"Surprised to see me?" she asked, regarding him pointedly behind her petite spectacles.

The chair groaned as he stumbled to his feet. "Gail!" he sputtered.

She smirked. "So you _do_ remember me."

"Of course I remember you," he said. "You're all I could think about."

The half-smile on her face fell into a cynical scowl. "Save it for another girl, Jacob, I'm engaged now."

"I know…" His expression turned wistful. "I saw it in the paper." He was about to add something, but by this time her words had sunken in. "Wait – did you say engaged?"

"Yes," she said matter-of-factly. "For about four months now. His name is Tom…the wedding's in a couple of weeks."

"A couple of weeks?" Jacob repeated, digging into his pocket and removed a folded piece of newspaper. His eyes scanned the article once more. "What day is it?" he questioned hurriedly.

"It's April 12th," she blinked. "Why? What is that?" She leaned forward, trying to see what he was looking at, but he folded it back up with a slow, calming intake of breath.

"It's nothing," he sighed, feeling an enormous sense of relief wash over him. He'd only assumed the wedding date had been the day J. Gander had given him the article. That was why it had been the wrong wedding. Gail wasn't married yet. He still had a chance.

"Well, enjoy the rest of your day, Jacob," she said with a faint smile. "I've still got a lot to get done. Maybe I'll see you around."

She moved to turn away from him, but he took her wrist gently.

"Wait," he said earnestly. "I haven't seen you in two years."

She stared back at him expressionlessly.

"Look, whatever else you have to do today, let me come with you," he continued, unfazed by her blank stare. "I can be your errand boy, help you carry your bags. We can catch up."

She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Catch up?"

He lifted his arms in a position of surrender. "Hey, you're engaged, no tricks. It's like you said in your letters…we're just friends."


	12. No More Games

Two hours later Jacob found himself following Gail through a department store, his arms overflowing with bags. Even though the circulation was being cut off and his wrists were turning a dangerous shade of purple, he didn't seem to notice. Rather, his mind was elsewhere, devising strategies for how he was going to woo Gail back into his good graces. It wasn't until she put a hand against his shoulder to stop him that he realized they had entered the lingerie department.

"I believe I can handle this myself, Jacob," she said. Though her voice was firm, there was an undercurrent of playfulness that hardly escaped him, and the tiniest hint of a blush tinged her cheeks.

"Are you kidding?" Jacob replied smoothly, stacking the bags and boxes on the floor next to a rack of negligees. "I wrote the book on sexy undergarments." In seconds he was rooting through the displays, either communicating his approval with a grin or his disapproval with a grunt.

"Jacob, I'm not sure this is such a good-"

He thrust an emerald see-through nightie into her hands and studied her. After a few moments, he gave a nod. "Yup. That one. The green really accents your eyes and the material will be perfect against your figure. Drive your future husband nuts, if you know what I mean," he winked.

She stared at him as if he'd grown another head. Hesitantly, she wound the nightie over her arm and eyed Jacob suspiciously – but there was a small hint of a smirk dancing at the edges of her bill.

"All right. Just don't expect me to model it for you."

He smiled after her and began picking up the bags while she left to checkout.

After hauling all of Gail's purchases to her car, the two of them decided it was too beautiful a day to pass up a walk in the park. All the while they kept stealing furtive glances at one another. Gail seemed nervous to be out there alone with Jacob, which made him all the more confident.

"So what's this Dr. Quailrip like, eh?" Jacob asked casually, though he hardly wanted to know the details.

"Well, he's intelligent and thoughtful," she replied slowly, as if having to think hard for words to describe her fiance.

"Doctors usually are," Jacob quipped with a sly smirk. "But have you ever watched a sunset together? Been skinny dipping in the bay at midnight? Climbed to the top of Mount McKinky and admired the view?"

"No…" she answered hesitantly. "But we _have_ fed each other calamari…"

"That's nothing," he said dismissively.

"It's just that he's very busy," she explained, "with his work. It's not that we could never do those things…"

"Ah, but when will he have the time? That's the question." Jacob eyed her triumphantly out of the corner of his eye. "When you're old and grey. And by then you'll just want to sit at home and watch the soaps."

Gail's laughter sang out at that, her hazel eyes crinkling merrily. Why hadn't he ever noticed before how beautiful they sparkled when she laughed?

"Those horrid things? I don't think I could last two seconds trying to follow that drabble."

Though they were smiling, silence fell upon them both, and each avoided the other's gaze.

Finally, it was Gail who spoke.

"Jacob," she started tentatively. "Why _did_ you stop writing…?"

He waited some time before answering, trying to think of the best way to answer her without taking a blow to his pride.

"Because I, uh…well, you know how it is. Top secret missions and all. Things just got…hectic."

"Oh," she said, the disappointment clear in her voice, "I see." She knew what "hectic" meant for Jacob Mallard.

"It wasn't that I didn't have time, I just –" he tried to explain, to reconcile what damage he had already done, but the words to worm his way around the truth wouldn't come to him. The look on her face was enough to crush any man's heart. Frustrated, he went with the only thing he had left to go on. What had really happened. "I was scared, okay?"

She looked up sharply, her entire body freezing in place and one eyebrow raised up in surprise.

"Scared?" she repeated as if it were a foreign word.

He sighed and ran his fingers through the unruly feathers on his head. "Your last letter mentioned a new boyfriend…and I had thought…well, I had started to…" He grunted, perturbed that he couldn't spit out what he wanted to say. "I thought I had lost you, so I stopped writing because I knew it would hurt less to see you when I got back. I thought I could detach myself that way, and I started a search for a substitute – any substitute. But that turned out less-than-brilliantly." He stared at her sincerely, and the surprise in her eyes was apparent. It was a rare occasion that Jacob Mallard was ever sincere about anything.

Gail seemed to be entranced by what he was saying. For once, Jacob Mallard wasn't playing any games. It unnerved her. This wasn't the Jacob Mallard that had left to see the world.

"You've been acting differently since you got back," she observed, unable to tear her eyes away. "What happened to you?"

"I realized something," he replied cryptically, his eyes boring into hers.

"What?" she asked meekly, trying in vain to moisten her dry throat.

"How much I took for granted. How many chances at happiness I wasted by playing around. The hearts I destroyed…" In an instant of impulse, he grabbed her hand and sandwiched it earnestly between his own. "You were the only one who stood by me even after knowing the kind of mallard I was. And I didn't realize how lucky I was to have that until I thought I'd lost you."

"And the substitutes…?" she questioned, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Let's just say…I learned my lesson. Why do you think I came back here?"

She yanked her hand away suddenly, pulling herself out of the trance she'd been in.

"Jacob, this can't work. I'm _engaged to be married_!"

"God damn it, I don't _care_ about that!" he snapped, his voice thundering over hers with more passion than she'd ever heard in it before. "Can't you see that I love you? _Only_ you?" His hand rose to gently stroke her cheek as he stared into her wide, quivering eyes. "And you love me too…don't you. I _know_ you do. I can see it in your eyes…"

"You don't love me. You love whatever idea of me you've created in your mind… I told you before, Jacob…I'm not your type of girl. I have to go," she continued fearfully, backing away from him. "Tom will be wondering what happened to me."

"Gail…Gail, wait. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

But she had already disappeared over the crest of the next hill, her dark blonde curls flying behind her like golden flames.

* * *

"I blew it, Charlie," Jacob mumbled pathetically over his glass of Jack Spaniels. "She's getting married in a week and now she'll never talk to me again." 

"That's some story, Mr. M," said Charlie with a shake of his head as he busily wiped a beer stein with a rag. "A real shame. But you know somethin'?"

The miserable mallard lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes locking gaze briefly with his old bartender friend.

"You been in here for near five hours whinin' about this girl. It ain't right, and it ain't you. What happened to the Jacob Mallard that never quit? The one with a libido the size of Duckburg?"

"He wasted away," Jacob retorted bitterly, downing another mouthful of whiskey. "Killed by his own ambition at twenty-five with nothing to show for it but an empty glass and an empty bed. Gimme another one." The glass made a dull scraping sound against the wooden bar as he slid it toward Charlie.

The bartender took the glass with an upturned nose. "I think you've had enough."

"I said give me another one!" Jacob snarled threateningly, though his eyes were empty of any real malice. It was a side of Jacob that rarely reared its ugly head, but Charlie remained unfazed as he set Jacob's empty glass in the sink. The mallard smirked with a cynical chuckle and sat back in his stool. "You can thank dear ol' Mum for my being here. After all, the best way to solve a problem is to drown your misery, right? Business must be booming!" The low chuckle became an obnoxious guffaw that died soon after it started, leaving Jacob more hollow than he'd ever felt in his life. "Oh God, what's the matter with me?" He buried his face in the crook of his elbow and felt his temples begin to pound insistently.

"I think they call it love, Mr. M," Charlie smirked as he turned to take care of another patron's order. "Now why don't you get your sorry ass outta my bar and be the mallard I know's in there somewhere before _you_ get married to that _stool_."

Jacob slammed his fist down on the table and glowered at the canine barkeep as he rose out of the stool. For a moment, Charlie felt a twinge of fear. But it was short-lived.

"You're right, God damn it, I love her and I'm going to fight to win her back! No yuppie doctor or _any_ man is going to best Jacob Mallard!"

With that, the SHUSH agent marched toward the doorway, or at least in the relative direction of the doorway. His steps were uneven and wobbly, and it was apparent from the way his eyes were filmed over that he had more than enough alcohol pumping through his veins. Mere feet from the stool he got tripped up in his own feet and pitched himself forward onto a table, ruining the poker game that had been going on as cards and chips flew in every direction.

"'Scuse me, ma'am," Jacob mumbled in a daze, not realizing quite what had tripped him up, and while he gathered quite a few angry glares, he noticed a discarded dart on the floor and picked it up. With his tongue positioned between his lips and his eyes narrowing in a vain attempt to concentrate, he aimed for the dartboard across the bar and threw the feathered shaft in the completely wrong direction.

"Ye-OUCH!" a pain-filled roar burst from whichever poor soul the dart had stuck in.

The saloon-style doors whined as Jacob pushed them open, but he paused as soon as he heard the cry. "No autographs!" he proclaimed, his words slurring together as he stumbled out of the tavern and into a pile of trash cans. It was there that he passed out and spent the evening gurgling in his own saliva.

* * *

Once again, in case you haven't got it yet, Jacob Mallard, Gail Patonita, & Charlie Collarton are all my intellectual property and © me, Amanda Rohrssen. 

This chapter is supposed to leave you with questions, especially surrounding Jacob's "miraculous" change and seemingly sudden devotion for Gail, and many of them I probably will not answer in future chapters because I prefer the reader to make his/her own speculations. And if you do, I'd love to hear them!


	13. True Love

Something thick with wetness and smooth to the touch ran over Jacob's cheek, leaving behind a gooey trail that chilled his feathers in the morning breeze. He smiled lazily in his sleep.

"Gail, you animal…" He turned his face toward the source of the moisture and was met with a rude awakening. The most foul odor he'd ever smelled in his life flooded over his face and invaded his nostrils like a poisonous cloud. Immediately he screwed up his bill and breathed through his mouth in a vain attempt to thwart the offending smell. "Whew! When did you last shower?" Then the sly smile returned as an idea came to mind. "How about we take one together…?"

His eyelids parted slightly and as soon as the world came into focus the smile evaporated from his beak. He was face to face with a scruffy but extremely friendly looking Saint Bernard, its tongue lolling out of its muzzle with a gelatinous stream of drool waggling precariously from its tip.

"What the -- !" he yelped, flailing backward against the trash heap that had been his bed. "Hmph," he grunted as soon as he realized the situation. Folding his arms, he regarded the pooch with a playfully stern expression. "Sorry Muttley, but my heart belongs to someone else."

With a groan he forced himself to his feet and stretched his stiff, malodorous body from bill to webbed toes. His head was pounding like a jackhammer on overdrive and the backs of his eyeballs throbbed mercilessly, but he ignored it as best he could and straightened out his wrinkled suit jacket. He had a mission to complete.

* * *

It didn't take long for him to find her, but she was surrounded by a group of girlfriends who were all fussing over her as she made some final adjustments to her wedding plans. Normally women in gangs didn't bother him; in fact, he quite enjoyed it that way, but for some reason he felt uncomfortable approaching Gail with them around.

_Come on, Mallard,_ he reproached himself, _get a hold of yourself. You had the Nubian Princess and the Empress of Thailand at your feet! You brought the underground drug mobs of Russia to their knees! The world is your oyster, and you can't get up the nerve to talk to a third grade teacher?_

He struck himself across the face a couple of times, hoping to dispel the nervous feeling that was new to him. In addition, he acquired a few raised eyebrows from the passersby.

She had been sitting at a café, but now she and her friends were rising and beginning to walk away down the sidewalk. In a moment of panic, also new to him, Jacob took off across the street without looking and was nearly hit by a car in the process. The angry driver laid on his horn, but Jacob kept running as if he hadn't even noticed. All of his attention was centered on the dark blonde curls up ahead, bouncing gently with each step she took.

He was a mere five feet away when he dared go no further.

"Gail!" he called guardedly, and stiffened when every single girl's head turned to stare back at him. He thought he caught a glimpse of brightness in her hazel eyes, but it was gone before he could be certain.

"Yes?" she responded with an unreadable expression. The rest of her friends glared at him as if he were the lowest scum of the earth.

He ignored them for the time being. "Gail, I need to talk to you. What I did – I'm sorry if I came on too strongly, but this is so _right_. You can't marry him; I can give you anything he could – better! I know I didn't treat you as well as you deserved before, but I promise you it'll be different this time! Just give me a chance to prove it to you before you decide!"

"You've already had plenty of chances, Jacob Mallard!" one of Gail's snooty friends piped up, and he vaguely recognized her.

"Yeah! She's through with you, just like the rest of us! We know all about your tricks, and it's not going to work this time! She's getting married tomorrow to a much better man than you'll ever be!"

He looked past the snarling women to the only one whose opinion mattered to him, but she was staring back at him emotionlessly, and for once he couldn't read what a woman was thinking or feeling. She was a mystery to him, and it drove him even wilder.

"Gail, please – " he started, but her friends cut him off.

"Why don't you crawl back into the hole you came out of and leave her alone? She's happy for once instead of pining over you. Besides, we all know you only want her because she never slept with you – ow!"

The girl behind the one who had been talking had smacked her on the arm.

"What?" she protested. "It's true."

Now Jacob realized why he recognized them. All of them, every single one of them, he had dated at some point in time. And every single one of them he had left just when they had started to grow attached, promising to call them at some point. His black eyes traveled over the sour faces somberly, dejectedly, until they reached Gail's. Hers was still unreadable, a blank page, and he could only assume that her friends had gotten to her, and that it was too late for him to have a chance with the one woman he had even remotely felt anything for in his life.

"You're right," he said slowly, their words sinking into his brain like the Titanic. "She does deserve better than me…better than what I have to offer…better than the kind of man I've let myself become."

Emotions swelled inside of him that he hadn't felt since childhood. Emotions he had sworn to himself that no one could ever make him feel again. Humiliation, guilt, shame, regret, longing…hurt. He'd been so busy trying to keep everyone out, so busy trying to keep his emotions in check and using them as tools rather than really experiencing them, that he hadn't noticed at which point Gail had managed to worm her way into his heart. And now that she was ingrained there, now that she had a place there that seemed as natural to him as breath, she was going to belong to another man. Though it cut through him like a rusted saw blade, he found he couldn't fight anymore if that was the future she desired.

He had suffered through a two week isolation in training, a poisoning in Israel, a near-death beating in Russia, more bullet wounds than he had fingers and toes, and had defeated more ruthless criminal masterminds single-handedly in his two year solo trek than any other agent in SHUSH history…only to be bested by a woman.

"I…hope you're happy together," he finished lamely, turning away from all of the haughty glares he was receiving. Feeling their judging eyes on his back, Jacob put his hands in his pockets and walked away, concentrating on the dull thunk his dress shoes made against the concrete, and forced himself not to look over his shoulder.

* * *

"Jacob, are you sure you're okay? That's the second frame you've completely botched."

"Hmm?" Jacob looked up from his thoughts, his glazed eyes barely focusing on his diminutive gander friend. "Oh, is it my turn again? Sorry John." He stood up to retrieve his bowling ball from the line, but J. Gander stood in his way.

"No, no, stop," he said earnestly. "Does this have something to do with that girl in the newspaper?"

Now he had Jacob's attention.

"What are you talking about?"

"Jacob, you never miss pins when we bowl. In fact, you always beat me by quite a few points."

"So?" Jacob snapped, a little more heatedly than he'd intended.

"Look at the score." J. Gander handed Jacob the sheet of paper he'd been tallying the scores with. After looking it over for a few moments, Jacob tossed the sheet aside.

"That doesn't mean anything. I'm just having an off day. You can't be good at bowling all of the time."

"But that's just it, Jacob. You're _always_ good at _everything_ _all_ of the time. Something's not right." J. Gander shifted his own bowling ball into his other arm, a look of concern crossing his usually serious face.

"It's nothing; I'm fine," Jacob insisted. "Can we just get back to playing the game?" He couldn't pinpoint exactly why he was getting so upset, especially at J. Gander, who hadn't done anything wrong.

Though he could tell John wanted to press the issue, he was thankful when his friend instead gave a shrug and consented. They bowled the rest of the game and then parted ways, and as Jacob started home it began to rain.

"Figures," he muttered.

Jacob Mallard could never remember feeling so low. Usually he was able to bounce right back from minor setbacks, but he seemed to be inept at talking himself out of this one. As the warm rain soaked through his white dress shirt and grey slacks, he contemplated visiting Pintail Grove, the shady part of town, and getting completely shit-faced. Might as well make the outside match the inside. Then maybe he could find a couple of hookers to top off his miserable evening.

A taxi braked just in front of him, and the rear passenger door opened. He moved to walk around it when he heard a voice calling to him above the steady patter of rain.

"Hello stranger. Need a lift?"

His feet suddenly suctioned themselves to the soaked sidewalk, and he turned his sodden face toward the sound in disbelief. There was no expression there for a few minutes as he stared at her, as if he wanted to make doubly sure he wasn't seeing things in his thoroughly melancholy, self-loathing state of mind.

But there she was, standing beside the cab, the rain plastering her dark blonde curls against her head and her dress suit clinging to her petite body. She smiled at him encouragingly, which jumpstarted his spirits like lightening. He mirrored her expression uncertainly and walked toward her, still not quite convinced that she was really there.

"Gail?" he said loudly, tentatively, through the buckets of water crashing over them. "What are you doing here?"

Instead of answering him, she threw herself forward and had her arms around his neck before he could even react. Her beak eagerly searched out his, and it wasn't long before she was kissing him fiercely, clinging to him in an ardent embrace.

"I came to find you, silly," she replied as soon as she pulled away, as if the fact were obvious. There was that playful tone in her voice that he couldn't help but be enchanted by.

"How did you find me?"

"I didn't. Your friend John told me where you'd be."

"But…what about your…?"

"I gave him back his ring," she said, watching him intently with her arms still around his neck.

He blinked, confused, and, understandably, shocked. "You mean you…?"

"I called off the wedding."

All he seemed to be able to do was stare at her. He didn't even have the presence of mind to return her tender embrace. There was no longer any doubt that she was really physically there, but had she gone crazy?

She gave a little laugh and her arms fell away from his shoulders. "Well say something."

It wasn't until he looked into her earnest hazel eyes that he finally understood exactly what was happening. It wasn't how he'd imagined it would be; he felt…unworthy. It was another new feeling to add to the list. And he knew now without hesitation that he'd chosen the right woman. She was too good for him.

"…Jacob?" Her voice had grown uncertain.

"Why?" was all he could think to say.

That beautiful, perfect smile returned to her bill. "Unless you were lying earlier today, I think you know why…" Then, briefly, the smile fell. "I didn't love him. Not really…it just made sense more than anything, and my parents liked him. In fact, I think they liked him more than I ever did."

"And what do you think they'll say about me?" Jacob asked, rain streaming off of his long bill.

She smirked. "Let's just cross that bridge when we come to it."

He moved toward her and slowly gathered her into his arms, as if he was afraid if he moved too quickly she'd evaporate. Even though it was only for a few passing moments, to Jacob it felt like an eternity. A perfect, complete, serene eternity, and for once, he was content to be still.

All too soon she pulled her head back and looked up at him, and the slight twinge of fear was transparent in her eyes.

"Please tell me I'm not just another one of your bar girls," she whispered as the rain began to dissipate around them. "Tell me this is for real, that this isn't another of your games…Tell me that I'm not just one in a long line of –"

He didn't let her finish. The tip of his bill found hers and he kissed her tenderly, passionately, just as the moonlight broke through the mess of clouds, bathing them in a pure silver glow.

"This isn't a game," he breathed between touching his lips to hers. "You're not a bar girl…you're the only girl. I meant what I said. Gail, I-"

The taxi driver must have grown impatient, because the horn beeped curtly behind them, making Gail nearly jump out of her feathers. She blushed, embarrassed, and Jacob couldn't help but think how much more beautiful she looked that way.

"Lady, are you getting back in or what?" the driver called after rolling down the window.

Gail looked up at Jacob, opening her bill timidly, and he interjected on her behalf.

"_We're_ getting in, thank you," he said, opening the door for her.

It wasn't long before they found themselves in front of Gail's apartment building, and neither one seemed to want to let the other go. The blush had stayed on her face the whole time, and her eyes had every so often flitted over to him as if to make sure he was still there. He, however, had watched her for the entire drive. It still hadn't completely sunk in for him that she was there, that she was no longer getting married, and that she had called it off for him. This was the sort of thing that happened in movies, not in real life. And though Jacob had always played out his life like a Hollywood playboy, it was quite a different experience when the emotions were real.

Her hazel eyes were on him again shyly, and he felt his insides melt. No one had ever had such power over him before. He was surprised to find that he liked it.

"Do you…want to come up?" she asked, watching him carefully.

He smiled and shook his head. "Not tonight…" he replied softly. "Not unless…you want me to."

She looked up at him with shrewdly. "You know my answer to that."

One of his hands came up and brushed the hair away from her face. Her consistent denial somehow gave him a sort of respect for her that would have otherwise turned him off on other women in the past. She was not easily won, and there were still a lot of things he didn't know about her. Oddly enough, it was that mystery that was one of the reasons he was so attracted to her. He could spend the rest of his life discovering more about her.

"Let's get married," he said abruptly.

"What?" she said breathlessly, her eyes going wide in surprise.

"Marry me," he said again, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

That little laugh of hers carried through the air again. "Do you hear yourself? You're crazy! How could we get married?"

"Easy," he replied smoothly, pulling her against him with a sensual smile. "You've already got a dress, and a church, and a minister…now all you need is a groom, and I know just the chap for the job. He can be a little cheeky at times, but I think you'll be able to keep him in line. He also, ironically, has very good taste in jewelry."

He watched her face go through a rapid shift in emotion. Shock, fear, uncertainty, contemplation, decisiveness, elation…

Suddenly her arms were around him again, and they were so close together Jacob could barely tell where she ended and he began.

"Yes…" she whispered, a slow grin spreading across her face. "Yes, I will!"

Her bill was pressed against his before he could even register her answer, and he knew he could kiss those lips and only those lips for all eternity. She was his. Jacob Mallard, Saint Canard playboy, SHUSH's rising star agent, was getting married.

* * *

Disclaimer: Once again, J. Gander Hooter is copyright the Walt Disney Company and is used without permission. (I snatched him when Iger wasn't looking!)

Jacob Mallard and Gail Patonita (soon to be Gail Mallard ;) are copyright me, Amanda Rohrssen. Please do not use either in any way, shape, or form without consulting me first or I shall be forced to suspend you over a tank filled with ill-tempered sea bass.

Author's Note: I hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter. It's going to be a while between updates since school's started back up. Who'd have thought getting a master's degree required so much WORK? ;)

Thank you once again to all of my kind reviewers! I really appreciate your feedback!


	14. To Love, Honor, and Cherish

The next day was a complete blur to Jacob. He barely remembered the unintelligible conversation he'd had with John after leaving Gail the previous evening, but somehow his best friend had shown up to the ceremony and stood beside him as his best man. His bride was beyond words beautiful, and from the moment she was walking down the aisle to their first kiss as husband and wife, Jacob couldn't take his eyes off of her. Even now, at the extravagant reception in the basement of the church, he barely noticed anyone else was in the room.

Choosing her had been the easy part; he had felt it in every ounce of his being that she was the only woman who could complete parts of himself that he never even knew weren't whole. It was unlike anything he had ever felt for another person in his entire life. He would die for this woman; give up anything and everything for this woman. Whatever it would take to please her, he would do. He was the luckiest mallard in the world to have her on his arm. It completely blew him away each time he looked into her eyes that she had said yes -- that this radiant and perfect creature before him was his _wife_. She had chosen _him_ to spend her life with. One thing he knew for certain was that he loved her, and he was not going to take his vows lightly. He had promised to love, honor, and cherish her, and he would be damned if anything got in the way of doing just that.

"Hey Jacob!" one of his old academy buddies called to him as he stumbled across the room with a wine glass clenched in his fist. His voice lowered conspiringly as he leaned in toward Jacob's ear with a mischievous expression. "I'll bet you can't wait for tonight, right? Huh, huh?" He elbowed Jacob in the ribs with a wink, then turned his head to admire Gail. "So, you think she's really a virgin? I mean, yeah, her dress is white, but these days you can never be sure, am I right? How many times you figure she's been around the block?"

He didn't seem to notice the way Jacob's face was swiftly darkening until he glanced back over his shoulder at his friend.

"What?" he asked in confusion.

"That woman is the purest, most virtuous treasure in all the world. Any mallard could count himself lucky to be breathing the same _air_ as her, let alone standing in her presence, and I will not have you speaking about my wife like a tramp."

His friend leaned back, his eyebrows twitching. He was clearly disturbed. "Hey, what's your problem? We used to check out girls all the time in the bar together."

"Exactly," Jacob responded flatly. "_Used to_. This one's different. She's not a bargirl. She's the one thing that's going to go right for me."

"You're no fun anymore, Jacob," the koala slurred firmly. "You've changed."

"That may be," he said, "but I don't mind. She's worth it to me."

The marsupial scratched his head hesitantly, then nodded. "Well…congratulations."

"Thanks," Jacob said before his boyish smirk crept into his face. "And Farva? There's no doubt in my mind that after tonight, I'll have been the best and _only_ man in that beautiful woman's bed. Don't you forget that."

Farva smiled in response, seeing that not all traces of his old friend had vanished, and went off in search of more champagne.

A slender hand slipped into his. "Jacob?"

His head turned and the smirk he had been wearing broadened into a wide smile.

"Ah, there she is. Mrs. Jacob Mallard. How do you like the sound of that?"

"It will take some getting used to," was all she replied with before taking a couple of steps to the side to reveal two mallards that had been standing in her wake. "Jacob…these are my parents, Kenneth and Illsa Patonita. Mom, Dad…this is Jacob…the mallard I was telling you about."

"Indeed," Gail's mother replied with an upturn of her bill as she scrutinized Jacob with her beady dark blue eyes.

Jacob stuck out his hand toward the father, ignoring the look Illsa was giving him. "How do you do, Ken? Can I call you Ken?"

"No," the elder mallard said immediately.

Jacob glanced down at his extended hand, still unshaken, and retracted it to try a different approach, this time on Illsa. "Well, I can certainly see where Gail gets her good looks from." Without waiting for a response, he reached out and picked up Illsa's hand to give the top of it a gentlemanly peck. "Madam."

"What exactly do you do for a living, 'Jacob'?" Illsa said with an undertone of disdain as she withdrew her hand from Jacob's grasp.

"Mother!" Gail hissed in embarrassment.

"I work for SHUSH," he said, letting the implication of Illsa's question roll off his back. "I'm also in a rather high position for someone my age, and plan on working my way up to director someday. Don't worry, I'll make sure your daughter's well taken care of." He smiled mischievously toward Gail and slipped an arm around her slightly pudgy waist. She gave him a pleading expression that he didn't latch on to right away.

"I see," Illsa continued, no longer hiding the dislike in her voice or on her face.

Gail's father abruptly cleared his throat. "Dearheart, may we speak with you for a moment?" he said smoothly to his daughter, struggling to keep his judging gaze away from the mallard at her side. "_Alone?_"

His bride's eyes panned over to him for a split second, and though he couldn't quite read what was in her expression, he felt a flicker of compassion and almost didn't want to let her go. But she was out of range in seconds and already in a quiet, heated discussion with her parents.

Not quite knowing what his role was supposed to be (rarely did he ever meet the parents of his girlfriends), he hesitantly headed toward the refreshment table and was soon lost in jovial conversation with a few of the guests.

It wasn't until he heard the DJ announce that it was time for their first dance together that he remembered Gail. Her parents were nowhere in sight, and though his keen eyes panned through the crowd he couldn't find the face of his sweetheart.

"Gail?" he said into the crowd with a raised eyebrow as he began searching through the waves of people – mostly her parents' guests.

It wasn't until he got to the farthest, loneliest corner of the room that he found her – a mass of white against the darkness. She was turned away from everyone, and her head was bent low at just the angle that made the beautiful curls spilling down her shoulders and back gleam like gold in the dim light.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Gail?" he said softly before a light smirk crossed his bill. "It's time for the newlywed dance."

The half-smile dropped from his face the instant she turned around. Her mascara was running down her face in twin streams, mixing with the viscous tears that covered her porcelain cheeks, and her hazel eyes looked so empty and hopeless he felt his heart crumble.

"What is it?" he asked lowly, earnestly, wanting to eradicate whatever was upsetting her. "What's the matter?"

"They don't think you're good enough for me," she whispered, her voice shaking.

"Who? Your parents?"

She nodded miserably. "And when I refused to get our marriage annulled, they…" Her gaze dropped to the floor, and he could tell that there would be worse news. He set his jaw and gently grasped her forearms in his hands comfortingly.

"What…?" he urged her quietly.

Her eyes rose slowly to meet his, full of cheerless despair. They were so unlike the eyes he had been entranced by.

"They made me choose between them or you…and I chose you."

He felt a familiar fire rise in his chest. The fire of defiance. Normally he would have protested fervently the unfair decision she had been forced to make, he would have ranted and raved about the unfairness of it, and he would have done everything to find and argue with her parents about what they were insinuating of him and his relationship with their daughter. They hadn't even given him a chance to prove himself.

But the look in her eyes made him hold his tongue, and he knew that no amount of rash anger would change the situation.

"I chose you," she repeated, the tears welling up again in her lovely eyes.

"So where are those crazy kids, anyway?" the DJ's voice blared in an overly-cheery tone over the loudspeakers. A swift murmur of confusion and worry fluttered through the crowd, and the shuffle of anxious feet against the wooden floor signaled to Jacob that they had better return to their duties as newlyweds.

"Hey…" he said gently, cupping her face in his hands and lifting her chin so that he could look at her. "Come on…let's get out there. They're waiting for us." He smoothed her hair back away from her face and ran his thumbs across her cheeks until all traces of her tears had vanished.

He took her by the hand and led her out of the dark corner behind the stage.

"There they are!" the DJ announced with a cheesy grin. "Mr. and Mrs…" he paused to read the card in his hand, "Jacob Mallard share their first dance as husband and wife!"

Jacob put his arms around his wife tenderly and let her lean against him as they moved slowly across the dance floor. She kept her head buried in the crook of his neck and away from prying eyes. The dulcet melody of Connie Francis' "My Happiness" filled the reception hall.

"This is our song," Jacob said, his voice a low rumble against her ears and a gentle smile warming his face.  
_  
Evening shadows make me blue_

_When each weary day is through_

_How I long to be with you, my happiness…  
_

"You're the only family I have now," she sobbed softly, sniffling every few seconds.  
_  
Every day I reminisce_

_Dreaming of your tender kiss_

_Always thinking how I miss my happiness…  
_

"You're my only family, too," Jacob whispered, holding her closer against him as they moved in rhythm with the song.

She tilted her head back. "Jacob…why didn't you want to invite your parents…?"

_A millions years it seems_

_Have gone by since we shared our dreams_

_But I'll hold you again_

_There'll be no blue memories then…  
_

"You know why," he responded somberly, staring over her head with a distant expression. "I haven't spoken to either of them since I was seventeen. They've probably killed each other by now, or drank themselves into oblivion."

"Were they always so horrible?"

"No…" he replied quietly, "they weren't." He blinked out of the empty stare and looked down at her. "I don't want to talk about it. Not right now. You're the only one who knows. I haven't even told John."

_Whether skies are gray or blue_

_Any place on earth will do_

_Just as long as I'm with you, my happiness…  
_

She nestled her head back down against him and he rested his chin atop her head after placing a kiss there.

"What about your brother?"

"Nick? Oh, he and I don't talk anymore, either. We fell out of touch after I got him out of there. Always blamed me for the family falling apart…" He cleared his throat.

"You have any siblings?"

"No."

_Whether skies are gray or blue_

_Any place on earth will do_

_Just as long as I'm with you, my happiness…  
_

They remained silent for a few long moments while the last chords of their song faded away. At the end all of the guests applauded them, but they neither stopped dancing nor pulled apart as the DJ began playing another song for everyone to dance to.

"We really are the only family we have…" Gail murmured. Jacob had to strain his ears just to hear her above the music.

He set his jaw again, a resolute expression settling into his usually devil-may-care visage, and he stopped the both of them only to embrace her more tightly, more reassuringly. He could feel her begin to cry again.

"I love you," he rumbled. "We're going to make our own family. We don't need anyone else as long as we have each other. I'm going to take good care of you…okay?"

She nodded against him, her tears wetting the lapels of his black tuxedo, and kept her arms firmly locked around him. They were all each other had now, and Jacob was determined not to disappoint her.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm sorry if this chapter seems a little rushed. It's definitely got a different feel to it than previous chapters. Jacob's finally turning his life around, but don't think that that means it'll get boring! Just a couple more mushy scenes and things'll pick up again, I promise! Constructive criticism would be appreciated. :) 


	15. Morocco

After a weeklong honeymoon in Paris, the newly wed Jacob and Gail Mallard couldn't afford a house right away, so they settled on an apartment in one of the nicer areas of Saint Canard which, incidentally, was a few blocks away from The Old Haunt. Jacob went back to work, and every night he returned to a home-cooked meal and a loving wife. This was far from anything he'd ever experienced before. It was much more stable, more satisfying, and it was…nice.

But Jacob found himself getting antsy staying in the city, and was immediately thankful the moment an out-of-country assignment fell into his lap courtesy of Director Bonaparte. He tossed and turned all night, a bundle of excitement that he hadn't felt in weeks. It was like starting all over again – a brand new agent.

"Mmmm, why do you have to go to Morocco?" Gail murmured into his dress shirt the next morning as he attempted to pull on his coat despite the fact that she had him wrapped up in her arms.

"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you," he replied slyly.

She smacked him on the arm playfully. "Don't give me that."

"A military coup," he responded with a smile. "But I can't tell you much beyond that."

"You told me where you were going," she said with a raised eyebrow. "I thought that was against the rules."

"True enough. But you're my wife, so to hell with the rules. It's one thing to write it in a letter, but completely another to tell you in the privacy of our own home. Let's just hope the information I gather from this mission goes better than the one I had in Cuba."

"The Bay of Pigs invasion wasn't your fault, Jacob. You didn't know what President Kenneldy would be using that information for."

He scoffed. "Idiot."

She was quiet for a moment, coming back to the realization that she would be losing him soon.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Two weeks…a month at most."

"A month?!"

"Hey," Jacob held up his hands defensively, "you knew my job involved a lot of traveling. Besides, I haven't had a big assignment in weeks, and accomplishing one like this will look pretty good on my resume."

"But Morocco…?" she said, her voice growing softer. She moved toward him again and laid her head against his chest. "That's so far away…"

"Write to me," he murmured fervently as he held her close, "like before. We can still be together while I'm gone, just not physically."

She pulled her head back and smirked at him. "Will there be beautiful women there?"

"Of course," he joked, immediately picking up on her playful insinuation. "But don't worry. Each time I sleep with one of them, I'll think of you."

"How sweet," she replied.

* * *

Jacob glanced at his watch as he bustled through Casablanca International, barely paying attention to the lilting voice of Barbra Quicksand that played intermittently over the loudspeakers. The hand of American culture was steadily extending its reach as the years went on, but that meant little to Jacob. He marched to the beat of his own drum; politics were of little interest to him unless he could use them to his advantage, but that is not to say that he didn't keep up with current affairs.

As he passed near a restaurant set in this particular wing of the airport, he caught a whiff of couscous and felt his stomach grumble wildly. Though he'd flown first class, he hadn't been very hungry on the flight. He chalked it up to excitement at being back on the job. Now as he left the Moroccan cuisine in his wake, he was lamenting the fact that he had to meet up with his SHUSH contact rather than take the time to sit down and enjoy a real meal.

As he exited the building and stood on the sidewalk to wait for a cab, he didn't notice the ram come along beside him until he was right next to him.

"The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain."

Jacob raised an eyebrow, then smirked, keeping his eyes forward. "Yes. Perhaps an umbrella would be advantageous this time of year."

A cab pulled up next to them, and one slid in behind the other.

"Agent Jacob Mallard?" the ram ventured cautiously.

"That would be me," Jacob replied airily. "I take it you're Amir?"

The ram nodded. Jacob grinned, eyeing his fellow SHUSH agent who was wrapped up in a black trench coat and thick sunglasses.

"Not a very clever disguise, old boy."

Amir took off and pocketed his sunglasses with a mixed expression, but quickly cleared his throat. "You're going to need a disguise of your own if you're going to get the information we need to bring down Fatih's underground rebellion before there's an assassination attempt."

"Relax," Jacob crowed, "I've got a million of'em stashed in my bags." He glanced up at their cab driver, but he didn't seem to be giving them the time of day. "Is he…?" he motioned up front, and Amir shook his head.

"No, but most people here don't know much English, so we're safe to talk in here."

Jacob nodded. "So what's this 'Fatih' been up to?"

"You mean you didn't get the paperwork on the case?"

"Oh, I got it. I just didn't read it."

Amir made a disgruntled sound, pursing his fat lips together, but decided not to waste his breath reprimanding Jacob.

"He's the leader of one of the insurgent groups that is determined to bring about the fall of King Hassan II. His men have been using guerilla warfare tactics to forcibly take control of the iron ore mines near the Mauritanian borders."

"Ah, you mean the Spanish Desert – a land so rich in iron ore that the Moroccan government overtook it for themselves despite the fact that it was already a part of Mauritania?"

Amir raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so you have done your homework."

Jacob shrugged in a sly manner, neither confirming nor denying Amir's remark.

"The fact of the matter is, that land now belongs to the Moroccan regime, _not_ to the rebel forces. King Hassan II has ordered us to aid him in restoring order to his kingdom."

"So what's our first step?"

"Why, to introduce you, of course."

Now it was Jacob's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Introduce me?"

Amir smiled knowingly. "We're on our way to meet the king."

* * *

What felt like hours later, the cab finally pulled up in front of the palace, a grand and exotic display of Arab, Spanish, and French architecture. Jacob couldn't help the impressed look that washed over his face.

"Just wait until you see the inside," Amir said with a smirk after paying the driver.

The beautiful mosaics that made up the flooring and the magnificent fountains amidst the gardens scattered intermittently throughout the extravagant palace kept Jacob's jaw slightly ajar as he took it all in.

"Well, he certainly knows how to live," he quipped as he stared.

Amir beckoned him to hurry up, and a guard standing beside a thick oaken doorway with an intricately carved surface pulled it open for them to enter the palace throne room. The ceiling was entirely made of glass, and steepled at its peak. The room was warm with the trapped Moroccan heat, and extravagant tapestries in deep oranges and reds and golds lined the walls.

King Hassan's head snapped up the moment they entered.

"SHUSH Agents Amir Jabbaar and Jacob Mallard here to see you, sir," announced the guard that had let them pass.

King Hassan's scowl brightened a bit, and he encouraged them with his rolling arms to sit in the ornate wooden chairs facing his profligate ivory desk that was nearly twice Jacob's height if he'd been lying down.

"I am so glad you are coming to my palace today," the king declared. His voice was gruff, authoritative, and had an edge to it that Jacob couldn't quite place. "The rebel forces are growing strong, but I have solution. I have caught many spies in my palace, including two this morning, and I am pleased to be showing you how it is we deal with spies. They will be an example to all that oppose my rule."

He clapped twice, and two of the guards left the room.

"The Spanish Sahara belongs to me," Hassan continued firmly. "And that includes the iron ore deposits there. That ore will be helping my government to be prospering like never before, and these ingrate dissenters must be punished for their traitorous deeds. First they were few, but now they are multiplying like the little bugs they are. But I am slowly to be taking care of the problem. _No one _dares to be standing in the way of King Hassan II. Your job, gentlemen, is to find the rebel base and win me back my iron mines."

"And how, exactly, are we to do that?" Jacob questioned arrogantly, unimpressed with the monarch's speech. Amir seemed to turn a paler shade of brown.

King Hassan II scrutinized Jacob with his beady brown eyes before a malicious smile spread across his fanged jaws. "Any way you can."

At that moment, the oaken doors creaked open again, and in returned the two guards, dragging two scraggly looking prisoners in their wake.

"Ah, here are the spies now," the king said coolly from his padded chair.

Jacob's black eyes roved over the two captives, who more resembled peasants or serfs than espionage experts. One was a young girl, who couldn't have been over fifteen, with illuminating blue eyes that softened her otherwise plain and filthy appearance. Her tangled black hair tumbled across her shoulders and hid half of her face, but she made no move to brush it away. Instead those blue eyes rose toward the king, and Jacob could sense that the fierceness she held in her gaze was merely a bravado to hide the immense fear underneath.

The other alleged spy was taller than her, but had the same skin tone and soiled look about him. His eyes, however, were brown, and the intensity in his gaze was anything but bravado.

"They were carrying concealed weapons and skulking about my palace," the king explained levelly as he rose from his throne. Keeping his snake-like stare fixated on them, he circled them slowly, haughtily, and his mouth curled back into a sneer as he looked them over like mice. When he reached the girl, he paused in front of her and put a finger under her chin so that he could look at her mud-streaked face.

She bared her tiny white teeth and tried to bite him since her wrists were in shackles, but the monarch was too quick. He narrowed his eyes at her while her companion grinned in amusement.

Though the king's fiery eyes were boring into the girl, he was snapping at his guards, who stumbled over themselves to follow his commands. Jacob couldn't understand what the orders were, but both girl and boy looked suddenly terrified.

"_La!_" the girl shrieked, shaking her head back and forth and trying to kick out as her captors dragged them both away. "_La!! Akhi!_"

"Do not worry," the king said briefly to both SHUSH agents. "We deal with their kind all of the time. Perhaps now that you are here, they will take my laws more seriously."

Jacob looked back into Hassan's serpent eyes without expression, the girl's screams ringing in his ears.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Big plans to come, guys! It'll just take me a while to find the time to write them all out. I hope everyone's staying warm. Please review! 


	16. Siren

That night the American SHUSH agent slept fitfully in the extravagant guest bedroom he had been given. He, Amir, and King Hassan had made plans for the following day – the agents were to lead a regiment out to the captured ore mines, take any prisoners they could, and force them to give away the location of the rebel headquarters. The king had assumed once the rebellion saw that the United States was getting involved, they would surrender. Jacob wasn't so sure it would be that simple, and quite frankly, he wasn't altogether too sure the king was as noble a ruler as he let on.

His thoughts wandered to Gail, and he twisted his gold wedding band between his fingers, glancing to the empty side of the bed. Though they had only been married for a short while, he had grown used to sleeping on one side every night. He missed the warmth she provided.

A muffled stumbling sound caught his attention, and he was immediately alert. His heart beat into his ears as he held his breath and waited to see if it had only been the old palace settling. No such luck. His sharp ears caught the skittering of shuffled footsteps over stone, and as he sat up in the bed a shadow crossed the crack in the doorway.

There was no way he was going back to bed now.

Judging by the amount of moonlight in the hallway, Jacob judged it was a little past two in the morning Moroccan time, and as he softly closed the bedroom door behind him, he noticed that the elegant deep red rug that ran down the hallway had been crinkled in the middle. Crinkled enough that somebody might trip on it if they weren't careful.

Jacob's black eyes glittered, and a smirk creased his face as he set off in the direction he believed the midnighter had gone. If he was going to be awake anyway, he might as well see what this person was up to – especially since it apparently required sneaking through the palace. This was going to be fun.

He moved nonchalantly, as if keeping silent were the easiest thing in the world for him. And, indeed, had he an audience, they would have believed it was. Practically anything _seemed_ like a breeze for Jacob Mallard.

He rounded a corner and, just as he was beginning to wonder why there weren't any guards milling around (after all, the king had given the impression that a large part of the populace disliked him), he felt his toes slide into something wet and gooey. In the darkness it was hard to tell right off what it was, and Jacob made a disgusted face as he shook his bare foot clean. It wasn't until he glanced up that he saw a heap of a man lying a couple of feet away, silhouetted against the rich and dark atmosphere of the nocturnal palace, silent and unmoving. His eyes followed the puddle of liquid at his feet until it disappeared underneath the man.

His eyes widened every so slightly. Things had just gotten a bit more interesting.

Without bothering to see if the man still lived, Jacob wandered past and soundlessly continued his search for the nighttime creeper. Again he came to a turn in the hallway, and his eyes panned to the opened curtains filtering in the pale glow of moonlight. It was a mistake.

A spindly arm looped around his neck and yanked him backward off of his feet. Jacob hit the marble flooring hard, and now his assailant had moved on top of him with a knife pressed to his Adam's apple.

He struggled to take in breath as the stars in his eyes faded and her features came into as much focus as the darkness would allow. It was the girl from the throne room. The girl whose screams had haunted him for a long while after she had disappeared.

"You?" he gasped as the blade pressed further into his throat.

"American?" she rasped, her blue eyes wide with adrenaline.

He nodded as best he could without being sliced. "Yes."

Her expression was wild and predatory, and there was distrust in her stare. "You come. You follow. No sound."

Having no choice in the matter, Jacob again nodded his head. She crawled off of him, but kept the knife aimed toward him and her eyes fixated on him. He got up slowly, feeling more confident now that she had removed the weapon from direct contact with him, and as soon as he had straightened up, her vicious demeanor melted away and desperation overtook her.

"You come. You help," she said, reaching toward him and grasping his hand with the one that didn't hold a weapon.

Quickly and silently she began pulling him through the palace corridors, all the while making sure to keep the knife in front of her in case they should run into trouble. After a few minutes of this, Jacob lifted his head and sniffed the air. His black eyes grew wide, and he pulled the girl to a stop.

She opened her mouth to protest, but he covered it with his hand and took her into the nearest dark room he could find. She glared at him intensely and lifted the knife, but he shook his head.

"Ssssh, sssh, no, no, I'm trying to –"

"The king has ordered a search for the girl. She is to be beheaded on sight, and her head is to be sent to the marauders in the southwest."

Jacob released the girl who, upon hearing the voices, remained silent on her own. She looked toward Jacob uncertainly, and he made a motion with is finger across his throat and pointed at her. Her startling blue eyes widened for a few moments, and then narrowed hatefully.

Footsteps faded down the marble hallway, and Jacob locked eyes with the teenager. "Where is your brother?"

"Brother?" she repeated. He could see her working the word in her mind, and when it clicked her entire demeanor drooped sorrowfully. "Akhi...dead."

"Them?" He pointed outside.

She nodded.

"Come on," he said, holding out his hand toward her.

She took it, and her hand seemed suddenly so small and fragile in his own. He held it gently and led her out of the room.

"This way…" he whispered, drawing her down a narrow corridor toward what looked like a dead end.

She frowned and tried to pull them around, but he shook his head and pulled aside the heavy forest green drapery of the towering window at the end of the hallway to reveal a small tunnel inlaid with bronze at the base of the wall. She blinked at him in surprise.

"My associate Amir told me a thing or two about the structure of this palace," he smirked. "Plus I did a bit of my own homework…"

Seeing the completely lost expression on her face, Jacob realized she hadn't understood a word he'd said. Smiling, he chuckled to himself and motioned for her to go first.

She shook her head swiftly and aimed the knife at him again. He shrugged. "Okay, we'll forgo the formalities," he consented before lowering himself down on his hands and knees and crawling forward into the small, disused tunnel.

"All right, we made it past the hard part," Jacob remarked as they rode away from the castle grounds on the backs of two stolen Arabian horses. "Now…where are your friends at?"

* * *

It took the better part of two days to cross the Western Sahara desert. They had run out of water long ago, and Jacob's throat was so dry and scratchy that it felt like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together every time he swallowed. The girl, whose name he had discovered was Hadia, had taught him a lot about surviving in the incredible heat, and had done her best to take care of the both of them on their journey. But as Jacob's hazy eyes panned out over the miles and miles of untamed, rolling sand, he began to wonder what he was doing and if they were ever going to make it to their destination. Did Hadia even know where she was going?

He opened his bill to call to her, but before his voice could make it out of his bill, a sound caught his ears and cut him off. Tilting his head toward the sound, he waited for it to recur.

When he heard it again, he could better make it out. It was a woman's voice singing softly and serenely over the gentle breeze that wafted over the orange-yellow hills of sand. It was the most beautiful sound Jacob had ever heard in his life. It reached right through his ears and pulled at his heartstrings, and without realizing it, he had turned his horse in the direction of the song. Once again, his gaze scanned the desert, but this time he was searching for the source of the sound. The longer he listened to the song, the more relaxed and carefree he felt. Sand blew into his eyes, but it didn't seem to really matter. There was a glaze over his eyes as they transfixed themselves onto a stunningly beautiful woman sitting languidly near a pool of fresh, clean water. It was her song he was hearing, and her delicate bill moved effortlessly as she formed the foreign words. Dark black spilled down her back and over her slender shoulders, and one of her delicate fingers reached out to graze the top of the crystal clear water, sending little ripples through the sparkling liquid.

Jacob licked his parched, scabbed lips and climbed down from his horse.

"Jacob…" she whispered, her lovely voice beckoning him. She extended her arms toward him, inviting him into her paradise, and he found his own arms reaching for her in return.

"Water…" he murmured desperately.

Just as he was about to touch the woman's fingertips, the vision erupted and twisted until it was gone, and as he blinked out of his trance he felt an eager jerk on his arm.

"American! You sinking!" Hadia shouted and pointed at his feet.

Jacob shook his head, disoriented. "Wha-what?" he muttered. It wasn't until he could blink the sand from his eyes that he felt a strange sucking sensation pulling at his ankles. He looked down and immediately stiffened. "Quicksand!" he yelped, trying to jerk up his legs out of the ground. The more he moved, however, the faster he seemed to sink.

"You take, you take!" he heard Hadia cry from his right. He craned his head back and realized she had a whip in her small hands. She reeled back the thick leather and snapped it toward him.

He reached for it, and it snapped smartly on his forearm, drawing blood.

"Ah!" he grunted, closing his fist around it before it could fall away from him. Clenching his teeth together, he twisted the leather around his arm as the blood seeped down the muscles and into the sand and pulled with all his might.

Hadia had tied the other end to his horse's saddle, and when she saw that Jacob was ready, she smacked the stallion on the rear. It whinnied and bucked before taking off at a dead run, plucking Jacob out of the quicksand like a weed.

"Whoawhoawhoawhoawhoaaaaaaahhhahahaaaaa!!" Jacob bellowed as the horse galloped across the sand dunes, dragging him along with it. "Come on!" he whined loudly. "Stop, horsie! Pretty please?" As his chest bumped and skidded over the rough surface, Hadia watched with a fit of giggles erupting from her throat.

The horse finally circled back around and slowed to a stop as Hadia comforted it, still laughing under her breath.

"Very funny," Jacob mumbled, sand dripping from his beak.

Once most of the sand had been removed from his person, Jacob and Hadia continued toward their destination. Jacob hoped it wasn't much farther. There was still sand in between his feathers, and it made for an uncomfortable saddle ride. He was sweating so badly that he had taken off his shirt and wrapped it around his head like a turban. Still, he felt like he was going to have a heat stroke.

As they peaked the next dune, Jacob smirked to himself and shook his head. "Huh…a mirage. It was a mirage…who would have thought?"

"American! Look!" Hadia cried excitedly, pointing off in the distance toward a small patch of mountainous rock in the distance. Jacob could vaguely make out smoke rising from between the red crags.

They had made it to the rebel camp.

* * *

Sorry guys, another long wait for an update. I haven't forgotten about this story! School will be out after tomorrow, so I should have more time to write (theoretically). Don't give up on this story yet! And please review! I highly value the input I receive. :) 


	17. Ambushed

The nearer they traveled, the more Jacob could make out. The camp was of modest size, with dozens of colorful tents dotting the landscape shrouded in darkness beneath the shade of a foreboding rock formation that jutted from the dunes like knives piercing the blue flesh of the sky. Movement caught his attention, and his black eyes fixated on a pair of figures hurrying out to greet them on the backs of mules. Hadia straightened in her saddle, her mood brightening when she noticed the two men, and urged her exhausted horse forward.

"Abba!" she shouted.

Jacob made a mental note to learn Arabic when he returned home.

"Hadia, bint!" called the heavier set man on the left.

Springing from his mule, he ran toward Hadia with outstretched arms, kicking up sand as he went. Hadia followed suit and was soon hugging the man fiercely. Jacob slowed his horse to a stop, and he and the second man exchanged uncertain glances. The stocky canine holding Hadia eyed Jacob from over the girl's shoulder before releasing her and asking her a few questions, to which she replied respectfully. The only word Jacob caught was "American." He hoped that being one would prove to be an asset.

The man Hadia had called _abba_ stood up to his full height and approached the SHUSH agent with distrust in his eyes.

"I hear that I have you to thank for my daughter's escape."

A jolt of surprise shot through Jacob as the man spoke. Not only did he speak articulate and fluent English, but he appeared to be Hadia's father. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Well, she did most of the work," he replied with a smile. "She's very…resourceful."

"She has to be. We all have to be as long as Hassan reigns." Then the canine stuck out his hand. "I am called Fatih, and this is Zaim. Now, _bint_, where is your brother?"

Hadia's head immediately lowered, and her azure eyes melted to the sand beneath her feet. Her father said nothing as realization and a twinge of grief passed over his face.

"Come," he said somberly, outstretching an arm to drape over Jacob's shoulders as they began walking. "We will talk over a hot meal and some water."

Jacob's head perked up immediately. "Water?"

* * *

"Hassan rules this land as a dictator, kidnapping innocents and accusing them of treason. Some return to their families broken and unrecognizable. Others never come back at all. The government hides these atrocities behind lies and false accusations, all to crush the resistance. But we will not give in. Nobody will betray our cause. We are like brothers. And we will fight for a just government. This land we have claimed from Hassan is very valuable. It is filled with iron ore deposits vital to our economy. Without them the government cannot run. They cannot ignore us now. This land belongs to Mauritania, not that madman." 

Jacob was silent as Fatih spoke, taking in every word with minimal effort. That the man was lying was not easily discernable, and this intrigued Jacob. His training had taught him much about separating fact from fiction, but Jacob had always had an innate sense about honesty that hadn't steered him wrong yet. Fatih, however, left Jacob in a gray area. What the rebel leader was saying about Hassan went against everything SHUSH had told him, and what Fatih would certainly ask of him was in complete opposition to his mission.

"You, American…you must help us. Hassan trusts you. You can tell us of his plans, give us access to where he will be easily taken down…"

"Wait just a minute," Jacob interrupted with one hand raised in the air. "You're talking about an assassination?"

Fatih nodded.

"Fatih, I…"

You are either with us, American, or you die right here."

"Well, I guess I _have_ lived a pretty full life at this point…" he mused with a smirk. Fatih didn't see the joke and remained deadpan.

"Please help, American," Hadia pleaded softly as she crept toward him to refill his water glass. "They kill _anki_…"

"Her brother," Fatih clarified at the look on Jacob's face. "Hassan killed her brother…I don't want to lose anyone else to this madman – I've already lost my son. But we're all willing to sacrifice our lives if that's what it will take to be free. What about you, American? Will you join us?"

It seemed as though hours passed while Jacob contemplated his answer. It wasn't the choice that was hard, but he had to think of Gail, and what the repercussions of his decision could mean for the future. Damn this responsibility.

If he died he would leave behind a widow, but if he succeeded he would quite possibly become one of the greatest SHUSH agents of all time…which meant a promotion. As soon as this thought struck him, his hand was extended to Fatih. Jacob's grip was strong, but not nearly as strong as the grip Fatih gave him. He grimaced and tried not to show the pain that jolted up his wrist and arm. A sigh escaped his lips as his hand was released, and he shook the aching limb slightly before he caught Fatih's eyes. They were hard and warnful. Jacob knew this man was not one to double-cross.

"To bed, then," Fatih said, a sudden whimsy in his voice. "You may use the tent over there. My men will be guarding the camp while we sleep."

* * *

Terrified screams pierced the air as the smoke and flames climbed higher. The smell of burning wood invaded his nostrils, and the heat seared his feathers even from the distance he kept from the conflagration. All around him people were scrambling to safety or standing beside him in awe of the spectacle before them. It had been one of the high-class apartment buildings in town, and now it was nothing but a tower of fire. Flames licked at the walls, lighting up the structure in reds and yellows and oranges so bright it hurt his eyes, and through the fire all that Jacob could make out was the skeleton of what had once been Canard City Estates. 

The firemen had not yet arrived, though someone had shouted that they had been notified. Still, the screams streamed through his ears until they became a single sound, a muddled cry of fear and despair. Then one voice rang about above all of the others.

"Look! A girl! A little girl, in that window!"

His black eyes were already on the flailing second-story victim even as the onlookers all began to realize that there was still someone trapped inside. Without a moment's hesitation, he raced toward the blazing inferno and leapt into the ravenous flames. Instantly he was drenched in sweat; it was hotter than anything he could have ever imagined. If there was a hell, surely it couldn't compare to this. He charged over the quickly disintegrating floor, searching for a stairwell.

The fire roared angrily, sending another torrent of heat washing over him, but he heard the girl cry out again and kept going. Another sound made him pause, and just then a blazing beam plummeted down inches away from him. He was grateful he'd stayed put.

The thick, charred pole of wood barred his path, but he soon realized that the only parts of the beam on fire were the ends through which the flames had eaten. Encouraged, he climbed up onto the unstable wood and placed one foot carefully in front of the other as if he was walking a tightrope. Sweat was pouring down his forehead and back, dripping into his eyes and forcing him to stop so that he could wipe it away lest he lose balance.

"Help me!!" the girl cried again.

"I'm coming!" Jacob bellowed, his lungs filling with smoke. He coughed wretchedly and staggered onto the second floor.

From the looks of things, the ceiling was going to collapse soon. Fire blanketed it like water over sand.

"Where are you??" he cried into the holocaust.

"Here!" she sobbed, her voice growing smaller. "I'm here..."

"Hang on!" He sprinted over the unsteady floor, not caring if he caused it to collapse behind him. "I'm almost there!"

"Please hurry..." she coughed.

He muscled his way through an apartment door then raced toward the back of the space, dodging bits of flaming debris, and shouldered open the bedroom door farthest from the front.

There in the corner near the window huddled a girl a little younger than he was -- maybe eleven. He ran over to her, but just as he planted his foot in the middle of the room, it sunk through the crumbling wood. The building gave a great groan, and then the area around Jacob split apart, sending him straight downward. He would have fallen to certain death had the girl not grabbed his wrists.

Her grip was weak but she managed to hang on to him just long enough for him to crawl back to semi-safety. He grabbed her upper arm.

"Come on, we've gotta get out of here."

Her eyes were already rolling back into her head as she struggled to stay conscious. He pulled her toward the window and looked out in time to see the firemen already opening a tarp for them to jump in to.

"You first," he murmured to the girl before he unceremoniously picked her up and tossed her out of the window. He watched as she landed safely into the middle of the tarp, then as the firemen pulled her away to make room for him.

He stuck one foot through the opened window and was about to jump himself when a loud explosion wracked the building. It was as if the structure itself had internally combusted, and the burst of heat and fire propelled him forward. The incandescence engulfed his body as he flew through the air like a rag doll. The icy wind that tore through him felt like daggers against his scorched feathers, and he was falling, falling...

Within seconds he was jerked awake by a hand that snatched the collar of his shirt and forced him to sit up.

"What have you done??" Fatih screamed into his face. "You led them right to us, you lying murderer!"

"What?" Jacob sputtered, his heart jammed up in his throat. "What are you talking about??"

"They are upon us! Hassan's men!"

It was then that Jacob heard the screams, much like the screams in his dream, and the flickering shadows against his tent told him that the camp was burning to the ground. It was a raid. Yet however fierce the blaze might be, nothing could compare to the fire in Fatih's eyes.

"I didn't know! They must have followed Hadia and I from the palace!" Jacob cried, trying to pry Fatih's strong hands from around his collar.

"No! You Americans and your self-righteousness! You have doomed us all!" Back railed Fatih's thick fist, and Jacob braced himself for the punch.

Gunfire rang out in the night, and instead of a fist hitting his face, he felt a sticky trail of blood rolling down his cheek. Fatih's eyes had swiveled up into his head, and there was a sizeable hole where the back quarter of his skull had been. He started to jerk and shake, and Jacob rolled himself out from under the dying man just as the body collapsed onto the cot. A stream of cold moonlight bled into the tent from the small bullet hole, and Jacob peered through it silently, watching as the king's men tore through the tents and rode down any of Fatih's rebels they could find. Blood littered the sand, looking like black streams in the shadows of the fire. Smoke and blood and burnt flesh soured the air and Jacob felt suddenly sick to his stomach.

But a single scream tore through the other sounds, and he recognized Hadia's voice instantly.

"No…" he breathed, looking out of the bullet hole just in time to see the adolescent girl being chased down by one of Hassan's riders. She tripped in the sand and scrambled to regain her balance while the man raised his saber with a bloodthirsty look in his eyes.

"NO!" Jacob screamed as he threw himself out of the tent. His legs felt like jelly beneath him but somehow he forced them to carry him forward until he reached her. "Don't you TOUCH her!" He pitched himself over the top of her, shielding her from the saber's blow, and the man halted in mid-action and stared.

Something was shouted in Arabic, and before Jacob could lift his head to see what was going on, he was clubbed over the head and everything went black.

* * *

OOC: I know, I know...another long time between updates. Is anybody still with me? Heh, I hope so. Jacob'll only be in Morocco another chapter or so, then we'll get back to the main plot, I promise!

* * *


	18. Last Man Standing

"Jacob…"

The voice seemed to echo in the expansive darkness. He was aware of nothing else, though there was little else to notice. A floating sensation overtook him, and he felt as if he could spend eternity in this place. There was nothing but serenity here, so different from the world he had just abandoned.

"Jacob, I'm coming for you…"

A flood of memories filled his empty head, and emotions he never let in shocked through every pore.

"Gail?"

"Just hold on…"

In one jolt he was awake, and pain immediately bled over the back of his skull.

"You know, you are very lucky that my men did not kill you, Agent Mallard…"

Jacob ground his teeth together. Hassan's slithery voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

"Naturally since you infiltrated their camp you will be telling me everything they disclosed to you." The reptilian man slid up next to the chair that Jacob had been tied to, and leaned in close to the agent's ear. "That is, unless…you were going to be double crossing me…"

Jacob jerked at his bonds, but it did little good. He glowered up into the face of the king. "Is that why you tied me up?" he snapped. "Of _course_ I was going to double cross you! How else do you think I got them to trust me? The troops were planning your assassination soon, and I was supposed to help them. What they didn't know was that I had been planning to turn them over to you the moment I re-entered the palace grounds. But your men attacked before I could get any more information out of them, such as the location of their underground printing network."

Hassan's eyes bore in to Jacob's, drilling through the pupils and scouring for any sign of a lie, but Jacob's irises were a cold black expanse. "You had better be telling the truth, American," the king hissed warningly. "Otherwise, all your agency will find of you will be a fingernail."

The black irises narrowed. "Is that a threat?"

"Not if you are being truthful." Hassan stood back to his full height and regarded Jacob with a slight sneer on his fanged face. "I am to be speaking to my subjects now, and then I will deal with the rebels. You will stay in here until I know for sure I can trust you."

"Do I at least get a _Playduck_?"

Jacob's sardonic question was lost in the resounding boom of the closed dungeon door.

Thoughts of Gail and the life he had back in Saint Canard filled his mind. In the old days when he was in a scrape, he'd imagined himself a great warrior or a superhero, thwarting his enemies with minimal effort. It was that over-the-top belief in himself that had seen him through. Now, however, those thoughts seemed childish and meaningless. The only thing that mattered was seeing his wife again, and while Jacob never liked anything that was rigid and narrow, this dose of veracity wasn't as hard to swallow as he had once thought it would be.

He thought of his best friend and the sad fact that he hadn't had the chance to speak to John in months. He wondered how the reserved gander was getting on. The muffled sound of voices caused him to lift his head, and the door opened, scattering his reverie.

"You've brought rations, I hope. I ordered leg of lamb over an hour ago. The service here is terrible."

"You are funny," said a voice he recognized.

The woman entered the room, her entire body and face hidden with silken robes and a jeweled headdress. Bending nearer to him, he could see her violet irises beneath thick black eyelashes.

"Do not be afraid. I am Lalla, Queen of Morocco." Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper, the voice from his dream…and his mirage. "I will help you escape. My husband is not a just man and must be stopped. I believe you are the only person who can do this."

"I saw you in the desert," he said bluntly. "And in my dream just now, I heard your voice. How-?"

She put her finger to his lips. "Sssh, there will be time later. Right now I must get you past the guards my husband has posted outside. The rebels are being held in the chambers beneath the palace. I will take you there, but beyond that I cannot help you."

"Why are you doing this?"

His suspicious gaze did little to deter her as she slid a small dagger from a sheath around her ankle. "I already told you, the king must be stopped. He is a madman and a murderer."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You have a choice? Don't move." The knife cut through the ropes as easily as a hot poker through butter.

Jacob started to get up, but she ushered him back down.

"Wait a moment."

No sooner had she finished saying this than two thumps could be heard from outside.

"I gave the guards some drugged beer. Now you may pass freely. Most of my husband's men have gone with him while he is giving his speech. The rest are patrolling the hallways, so you must be cautious. Hurry now."

He stood up and brushed past her quickly. He was just about out of the room before he turned back around and took the queen's slender hand in his, giving it a gentle kiss. "Thank you."

"He will come for us," Hadia said stubbornly. "He is no traitor. _Abba_ believed in him, _I_ believe in him. He will come, you will see. And we will bring down Hassan just as my father planned." There were tears standing in her eyes at the mention of her father, but her face had grown hard and cold with the bitterness of loss as she addressed the remnants of Fatih's rebel forces.

"Hush, child," one tired, haggard Doberman said softly. "It's over. We are all going to die here."

A succession of loud thuds outside of their cell followed by the sound of keys startled them out of their melancholy, and as the door opened they all scuttled to the farthest corner. All of them, that is, save Hadia.

"No one else is going to die if I can help it," Jacob declared as he stepped into the dim room.

"American!" she cried, lunging forward and throwing her arms around him. "I knew you would come. I _knew_ you would come!"

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, thinking of Fatih's heartbroken expression as the life ebbed from his fiery eyes. That same expression was reflected in the eyes of the men hunching behind Hadia, and he could scarcely stand it.

When Hadia finally released him, he regarded the group with grim determination. Just as he opened his bill to speak, however, another voice cut in.

"This is it. What we have been fighting for. What my father and _anki_ died for. And this man will lead us there." Hadia's hand fell on Jacob's shoulder as she continued. "Come. It is either Hassan or us."

They exited the cell in single file without the trace of a sound to betray their escape. No man stayed behind.

As they passed the unconscious guards, they stole their weapons from their belts. This foresight led to an easy journey through the palace corridors as they snuck up behind men patrolling the hallways and slit their throats. No guns were fired lest it draw attention. The bullets they would save for Hassan.

"This room has a perfect angle overlooking the balcony," Jacob said as they paused outside of an extravagantly ornate doorway. "We can get a few clear shots in him from there."

It wasn't until they'd opened the doors that they realized they were badly outnumbered. Guards filled the room, standing near the grand windows overlooking the public square and barricading each doorway. Hassan had been expecting trouble.

Even as the king's voice boomed over the crowds and through the walls, Hadia's voice rang out clear and unafraid.

"For Fatih!!"

A great cry rose up out of the rebels as they charged forward into the room. Gunfire ripped through the air and swords clanged against one another as every man plowed into the fray with bloodthirsty savagery. There was not a moment's silence. Voices snarled between blasts and the red gleam of blood painted the walls and floor as if they were canvases. Though outmanned, Hadia's men were well-trained and had desperation at their backs. There was nothing left for them to do but fight, and fight they would until their cause was won.

Yet it wasn't meant to be.

The last sickening squash of sword through flesh seemed to deafen the room, and only his racing heartbeat sounded in Jacob's ears. Bodies lay strewn about him in a sea of death, and not a soul moved underneath the stare of his coal black eyes. Faintly he could hear the crowds outside shouting and rioting about something, and he knew Hassan's reinforcements would be on their way after all of the commotion they'd caused.

He was the last man standing.

There was a cough, corrupted by the choke of blood, and Jacob immediately fell beside Hadia's trembling body.

"Finish it," she whispered, her breath ragged and thick with pain. "Before they come, you must kill him. Please."

He took her hand and held it tightly in his own as he watched the life quickly stream from her beautiful blue eyes. The spirit that he had come to grow fond of abandoned her body, and she was still. He kept hold of her hand, not wanting to believe that the child was gone. It was only when he heard the stampede of armed guards running toward the room that he leapt to his feet, searching for a gun with some ammunition left. From his vantage point he could see that Hassan was still standing on the balcony yelling at his subjects with ferocity etched on his twisted face, but he knew he wouldn't have this window of opportunity for very long. He rooted through the bodies, carefully avoiding looking at their faces. The guards drew closer.

Finally his sights laid on a rifle not two feet from where he was kneeling, and he scrambled for it. Just as his hand had closed around the weapon, however, what seemed like an endless throng of sentries barreled into the room, surrounding him with every saber, every gun, aimed right at him.

He could no longer hear Hassan's high pitched hiss, and he sat only a few minutes under the glare of the king's men until he saw why. Hassan charged into the room, followed by his advisors and a familiar face.

"Mallard?" Agent Jabbaar gaped, flabbergasted. "What are you doing here?"

Jacob didn't answer him.

"It is obvious, is it not? It seems that I have misjudged your Agent Mallard. He has single-handedly thwarted an assassination attempt."

"Is that what happened, Mallard? You heard the fighting and stopped an assassination plot?"

The agent's head dropped down, his calculating eyes dull and grief-stricken. He couldn't see a way out of this, not one that didn't involve his own death.

"Well?"

The impatience in Amir's voice did little to faze Jacob. He could only stare at the lifeless blue eyes of an adolescent girl.

"Yes," he said softly with a crack in his voice. "Yes, that's what happened."

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, little bit of history here. There actually were no assassination attempts on King Hassan II until 1971, ten years prior to when this chapter takes place. But I needed something to further the plot, so I just moved things back a bit.

I've worked really hard doing research on this story. PLEASE R & R! I need to know y'all are still interested. Thanks!


	19. The Challenge

It seemed the rewards for saving a king knew no limits. In Morocco Jacob received a medal of honor from Hassan himself, along with a handsome monetary endowment. Back home he was hailed as a local hero, and he was even given his own homecoming parade that led up to an award ceremony during which Jacob received more medals for valor, service, and bravery. Director Bonaparte promoted him to SHUSH's highest field agent rank (second only to the chief agent), and as another commendation the organization custom built him a 1962 light yellow E-type series Jaguar. He was the envy of every agent on the payroll. Normally he would have soaked in the admiration and taken pride in his accomplishments, but he knew that it was all a sham. He couldn't wait until he could put Morocco from his mind forever and simply enjoy life again. Even so, he took all of the awards with a smile and said nothing to compromise the way everyone saw him. Only he knew the truth, and it was a bitter pill to swallow.

The biggest surprise he was to receive came from home. Mere seconds after he'd walked through the front door of their apartment, Gail had him in a stranglehold so tight he could barely take a breath. Choking down some air, he pulled away from her long enough to study her face – the face he'd missed for so long. He caressed her cheek, pushing back a few strands of her dark blonde curls, and kissed her tenderly. Being with her always seemed to make everything right again.

"Jacob," she whispered as soon as they'd parted. "thank God you're all right. I've been watching the news reports. Why didn't you come home first?"

"Security measures," he said a bit sullenly. "I had to disclose everything that happened in great detail, and, uh…I had to sign a few papers."

She nodded and looked at the ground for a moment, squeezing his hand in both of her own. "I have something to tell you…"

She looked so serious and so coy at the same time, Jacob could only smirk.

"You've found someone else, have you? Well, serves me right, the line of work I'm in. I'll survive somehow, don't worry about me." He put the back of his wrist to his forehead in a show of drama, but Gail's expression didn't change. A little concerned now, he let the arm fall and gave her his full attention.

She took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."

Instantly his body relaxed. He hadn't realized how tense he had grown in the last few seconds. "Oh, heh," he chuckled. "Is that all? I was hoping for something a little more catastro—" His bill snapped shut and his eyes grew wide. "P-p-p-p-pregnant?" stuttered his usually articulate mouth.

She nodded with a wide grin, and it was at that moment that Jacob Mallard fainted for the first time in his life.

* * *

The room was blurry when at last he came to. Something wet and cool was on his forehead, and it took him a while to figure out that it was a washcloth. He was lying on their couch, and he only had moments to wonder what had happened to his wife before she came into view.

"Oh good, you're awake," she said tersely, glaring down at him from beside the couch. "Saves me a trip to the ER."

He blinked a couple of times, trying to reorient himself. Something had just happened, something significant. What was it? His eyes met hers briefly, and he could practically see her irises flaming.

_Oh. That._

Sitting up slowly, he pressed the cloth to his forehead and grimaced when he found that even with all of his caution he'd still managed to sit up too fast.

"How can you be pregnant?" he croaked.

"What do you mean 'how'?" she retorted. "_You_ were there!"

He shook his head. "That's not what I mean… How far along are you?"

"A month."

"A month? But we've barely been married for a month!"

"Yes, I know," she said icily. "You do remember our wedding night, don't you?"

He chuckled. "Boy do I ever. I had been hoping for a repeat of that when I got back."

"Well, there you are, then. It had to have been that night."

"Are you sure? I mean, did you have yourself checked out?"

She sighed impatiently. "Yes, yes, of course I did. I was starting to feel very sick after you left, especially in the mornings. They ran a test, and here we are."

Silence fell over them like fog, and Jacob could barely keep his head in the blinding mess. Gail's voice sounded a million miles away, but he wasn't so far gone that he didn't pick up the anguish in her tone.

"Do you want to have this child…?"

Instantly his eyes were back on her, and the mist dissipated. "I…I don't know, Gail. A kid is just…so much responsibility…"

A tear slid down her cheek, but she could only glower at him as she stormed out of the room.

"I guess I'll be sleeping on the couch tonight?"

The slam of their bedroom door was his only response.

* * *

"This is bad, Mr. M," Charlie proclaimed as he filled Jacob's glass for the fourth time. "Y'don' knock a girl up an' tell her you don' want it. After all, you helped her make it."

"Don't you think I know that?" Jacob snapped, gulping down another mouthful of whiskey. It burned like hell, and he loved it. "What else could I say? I'd make a lousy father! It's in the genes, she knows that."

"Well, y'don' want her to get rid of it, do ya?"

Jacob shook his head once viciously. "Not a chance." He was silent as he let the whiskey churn in his gut. Images of times past muddled across his mind, and he scowled in an attempt to wipe them out. Downing the last of his glass, his gaze narrowed on the quivering remnants of liquid at the bottom as he thought hard. "I never meant to hurt her, Charlie," he finally said hoarsely. "I'm just…"

"Scared?"

Jacob's jaw clenched noticeably, but he refused to look up. The barkeep simply nodded.

"I know what that's like. I got two o' my own back home."

The black eyes flew open and stared at his friend. "You have kids?"

Charlie chuckled and shrugged. "Well sure. A man's gotta have a family. Otherwise, what legacy can he leave to the world once he's gone? What purpose does he got? I tell ya, Mr. M, fatherhood changed my life, and I wouldn't give up nothin'."

"How do you do it, Charlie?"

"Do what?"

"…Be a father?"

"It may seem hard at first, sir, an' lemme tell you it won't get any easier. But it's the most rewardin' thing you can ever think of. I can't tell you precisely how to do it, 'cause it's a different challenge for every man, an' not every man is up for this kind of a challenge." Charlie leaned in closer, ignoring an impatient pig hollering for a pint of Mud Light. "Are you up to the challenge, Mr. M?"

* * *

It was just past midnight when Jacob crept home on silent feet. The alcohol hadn't quite hit him as hard as it had the night he realized he loved her, but it was still hard to cling to the speech he had recited in his head. He planned on finding a piece of paper and a pen as soon as he reached the kitchen, but he couldn't seem to remember where they were. Rummaging more noisily than necessary, Jacob hunted for his quarry until the lights overhead sprang to life, momentarily blinding him.

"Ahh!" he cried, squinting through the brightness. "What'd you do that for?"

"Jacob, it's midnight," Gail's voice said sternly. "What are you doing out here? Did you just get back? Where have you been?"

"The Old Haunt. A few seconds ago. Looking for pen and paper."

"You know how I feel about that place," replied his wife with a certain amount of disdain dripping from her voice.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, eager to change the subject.

She sighed. "No…I couldn't sleep."

The suddenly somber mood in the air sobered him up, and he blinked until his sight adjusted. He could see that the raw heartbreak was still stinging in her eyes.

"Come here," he said softly, leading her toward their dining room table. He sat opposite her and stared down at the placemats Gail had so meticulously sewn herself while he was away.

"Jacob, I'm tired," she said, and he could tell it was a desire to be away from him rather than sleep that spurred her plea.

"Wait," he swallowed thickly, placing a gentle hand over hers. "I need to say something to you."

A slight rustle met his ears as she sat back wordlessly and waited.

He took a few deep breaths and found that he was trembling. He laughed at himself a little at shook his head. "God, why is it so hard to talk to you?"

"You aren't going to leave me…are you?"

The sound of her voice was like a nightingale with a broken wing, realizing its end was drawing near and clinging desperately to the few moments of life it had left. He felt his heart bleed for her. Never before had he known such empathy for another person. He loved Gail so much that her heart seemed to have inexplicably tangled itself with his.

Immediately he was on his feet and standing beside her. Kneeling down to where she sat, he put one of his arms around her and rubbed her back.

"Never," he whispered fervently, and he knew he meant every word. "I promise, Gail Leigh Mallard, that as long as you are my wife, I will never leave you."

Tears streamed down her face and her arms encircled his neck. He held her close, cursing himself for not seeing it sooner. Jacob's immediate reaction to increased responsibility in a relationship was to leave, and Gail knew that. It was why she had been so upset.

"I can't do this alone," she sobbed into his neck. "I want a family, Jacob. I want _us_ to have a family together."

"We will," he said firmly. "I was stupid and…afraid. It caught me off guard and, after all, my father was no role model…and neither am I."

"If you weren't a good man, I would never have married you," she reassured him soothingly. "You'll be a wonderful father, I just know it."

"As long as I have you to keep me in line," he smirked. "I'm up for the challenge. We can do this. Together, we can do anything." He kissed her cheeks sweetly, tasting the salt of her tears, then slid his arms underneath her and plucked her up and out of the chair. The smile she gave him was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, and once again, all was right with the world.

Lowering his bill to her ear, he crooned slyly, "Now…why don't we replay our honeymoon…? And tomorrow, I'll take you for a ride in my new car."

* * *

_Author's Note: Sappy stuff, I know. But hey, Jacob's learning to buckle down and grow up. Don't worry, though. His life'll be anything but boring!_


	20. Carrie

Two weeks passed, and the young SHUSH agent had no idea what was in store for him as he entered the double doors of the government building that morning. He had just returned from an assignment in New Zealand the previous evening, and already he was itching for another adventure. Little did he know he would soon get more than he bargained for.

"Why hello, Agent Mallard," Bonaparte's middle-aged receptionist greeted Jacob flirtatiously as he entered the executive wing.

"Penny," he replied with a quirked eyebrow. He always enjoyed bantering back and forth with her before seeing the director. "You're looking ravishing this morning."

"Oh Jacob," she giggled. "You're not looking bad yourself. It's a shame you're taken."

"Ah, I may not be able to give my hand to anyone else, but I am certainly free to give away my charm…"

Penny rested her chin in her hand and gazed at him with a smirk. "Hmm. And what a professional charmer you are. Did you bring me anything back?"

He pulled a carved wooden rose from his suit pocket and handed it to her. "Here you are, Penny, as requested. Finest Maori carpentry work. Gail was jealous when she saw it, but you know I get only the best for you." He winked at her.

She took the flower eagerly and admired it. "Agent Mallard, are you sure…?"

"Oh come on, Penny, you know how I feel about you."

She shook her head with a cynical smile. "The director will see you now."

"Thank you, Penny," he said, sweeping past her with a stoic stride as he went into Bonaparte's office.

The director was hunched over a file, a magnifying glass in his left hand as he scanned the paperwork meticulously. "Idiots," he muttered. "Can't even fill out an ID-79-W form correctly."

Jacob cleared his throat. "You wanted to see me, Director?"

Bonaparte lifted his head with a start, focusing the magnifying glass on the respected agent. "Eh? Oh, it's you, Mallard." The old vulture hopped down from his office chair, a full two heads shorter than Jacob. His yellow, triangular eyes scrutinized his agent scornfully. "You think you're hot stuff, don't you?"

"Well, you may or may not recall a certain monarch's life was saved by yours truly, among various other amazing accomplishments, so – in a word – yes. But I don't just _think_ I'm hot stuff. I _am_."

"Indeed," Bonaparte sneered. "Well, in addition to your 'amazing accomplishments', you might remember a customized vehicle I had commissioned especially for you. _But_ that car was not made for pleasure, or whatever mundane activities you may use it for. I gave it to you on the condition you would use it for your _work_ duties."

"Yeah, so?"

"Your work duties _alone_. You were spotted several times gallivanting through the city with a woman in that vehicle."

"That 'woman' is my _wife_," protested Jacob.

"Even so. That vehicle is not a toy, Agent Mallard. _Don't_ let it happen again."

A flash of satisfaction flickered in Bonaparte's eyes, and Jacob's mood briefly soured.

"Well!" continued the director, his tone suddenly upbeat. "Let's take a walk, shall we?"

Leading a frowning Agent Mallard through the SHUSH hallways, Director Bonaparte waited until they were standing just outside of the briefing room before he spoke again.

"I am assigning you a partner, Agent Mallard."

Instantly Jacob's brows knitted together. "But Director, I work—"

"Whether you want one or not," Bonaparte continued, unfettered. "You'll be cooperating with British Intelligence's top agent. It seems they've run into a snag with a criminal mastermind and need our help to bring him down."

"You mean _my_ help," Jacob corrected him smugly under his breath.

"He seems to have made a run for it into our jurisdiction, and they requested you by name. Were it solely my decision, I would have assigned you as far away from this case as possible. Now follow me. And for God's sake, straighten your tie."

Muttering, Jacob did as he was told and followed his superior inside of the room. They were met with a very tall stately looking eagle with neatly combed feathers and bushy brown eyebrows. He was wearing a meticulously ironed white suit, and upon their entrance, he straightened to attention and stuck out his hand formally.

"Director Bonaparte, it is an honor to meet you."

"Yes, I'm sure it is," the vulture said dismissively as he shook the British avian's hand. "This is Agent Jacob Mallard, Agent Mallard, this is Agent Derek Blunt. You two will be working together on the Sharpe case. I'll give you a few minutes to update Agent Mallard on the situation, and then I'll expect you both in the laboratory for a briefing with Professor Waddlemeyer."

"Yes, sir," Agent Blunt responded rigidly.

Jacob only gave a sharp nod.

Once the door had closed behind the director, the two birds sized one another up. A sneer crossed Blunt's refined features.

"You don't look like a respectable agent," he said critically. "I don't see why I should even bother working with someone who obviously hasn't been in the field for long. You should be grateful for the opportunity to learn from a master spy…that is, _if_ I decide to let you tag along."

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing about you. You don't seem the type that likes to get his hands dirty. It's a wonder you've made it this far. Their standards must be ridiculously lax overseas."

They stared each other down for what seemed like hours, neither one flinching under the other's steely gaze, each determined to break the other so that the dominant one could assume the lead. It wasn't until they both cracked a smile at the same time that they came to a mutual understanding.

"You're all right, Mallard." Agent Blunt chuckled and gave Jacob a hearty slap on the shoulder.

"You're not so bad yourself, Blunt," Jacob replied, equally as impressed. "And please, call me Jacob. This 'Mallard' business makes me feel like an old man."

"Have it your way," Blunt agreed. "Now, about this Sharpe situation…"

* * *

It was well past three in the morning when Jacob received an urgent phone call. He had been working with Derek Blunt for months now, and the two were like a well-oiled machine. No criminal mastermind was safe from their ingenuity and daring, and though they had known each other only a short while, they had developed a strong and unique bond that only partners in such a dangerous field could. Derek was quickly becoming more and more like the brother Jacob had lost, and Derek had grown very protective of his comrade. 

With a groggy groan, Jacob rolled over in the luxurious hotel bed and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

His croak was met with a dial tone that sounded more like an air horn, and he fumbled to hang up the receiver as the insistent ring sounded again. It wasn't until the fifth ring that he recognized where the sound was coming from.

He snatched at air twice before he caught the light switch and the bedside lamp flickered on. Without leaving the comfort of bed, he reached down to the floor and sifted through his discarded clothing until he found what he was looking for. The antenna slid easily out of the tip of the sole, and he pressed the bottom of the shoe to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Agent Mallard. I do hope I didn't wake you," came the sarcastic voice of the director.

Jacob's brow knitted together as sleep doggedly clung to him like a wet towel.

"Not at all, sir," he said in an equally sarcastic tone. "I was merely in the middle of shamelessly spending government money in fruitless gambling endeavors. I do hope that's not a problem."

"Mallard..."

"Only joking. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

"Your wife is in labor."

Jacob was up like a shot, eyes wide open. "What?!"

"She arrived at Saint Canard Memorial two hours ago. I thought you'd like to know."

"With all due respect, sir, I'd like to _be_ there."

"Already taken care of. Your plane leaves Madrid in an hour. Tell Blunt to finish the operation solo. I'm sure he'll do just fine without you weighing him down."

"Blunt can handle himself. Goodnight, Director."

In ten minutes, Jacob was on his way to the airport. In another fifteen, he was passing through security. And in another twenty, he was on his way. It took thirteen hours to cross the Atlantic. Unfortunately for Jacob, in that time Gail had delivered a beautiful, healthy baby.

It was two in the afternoon when he finally managed to stumble into the labor unit at Saint Canard Memorial. There were dark bags under his bloodshot eyes, and though his body was dreadfully exhausted, adrenaline was keeping him conscious.

He nearly slammed into the nursing station, and his arms splayed over the counter so that he could stop himself. Pens and files went flying, causing the nurses to gasp in surprise.

"Mallard," Jacob sputtered tiredly. "Gail Mallard. She's –" he paused to suck in air, "she's in labor!"

The head nurse looked at him with a raised eyebrow. It was hard not to chuckle at his disheveled appearance.

"Are you her husband?" she questioned.

Jacob could only nod as he gulped in another lungful of air. He felt like he'd just run the Saint Canard triathlon.

The nurse smiled after scanning a list of patients.

"She's in the recovery wing. Room 606."

"Thanks," he breathed and turned to go. But before he could take another step, he turned around with a quizzical expression. "Recovery? You mean she's…"

"Already had the baby, yes. I'm sorry, sir."

His shoulders slumped as the weight of everything crashed down on him. All of a sudden he felt ninety years old.

"Oh…" was all he could muster as he shuffled his way slowly toward the recovery unit.

"Don't worry!" the nurse called after him. "Mom and baby are both doing fine!"

It wasn't until he was nearing 601 that it hit him that he was a father. His shined black shoes squeaked against the tile flooring as he stopped dead in his tracks. He had a child. He and Gail were parents…they had a family. A gripping mixture of anxiety, panic, and fear seized him, and he found it strangely hard to draw in breath, as if he had a boulder crushing his chest. His fingers strayed to his wedding band, and he twisted it.

The sound of wheels met his ears, and he glanced up to see a nurse pushing a small cart padded with blankets. When she turned into 606, he swallowed the lump in his throat and stiffly moved forward.

The door had been left open partway, and as the nurse shuffled past him out of the room, he looked in to see his wife sitting up partway in the hospital bed. There was an IV hanging beside her, and in her arms was the tiniest duckling Jacob had ever seen. She was cooing softly to the infant, looking as radiant and beautiful as ever, if a little tired. He was almost afraid to enter the room. It was pure coincidence that Gail happened to lift her head right then and catch her husband's eye. The smile that lit up every room crept onto her bill, and her eyes brightened.

"Jacob…"

He stayed in the doorway, shifting his weight. "Sorry I missed the big show. Bonaparte didn't bother giving me the word until –"

"Ssshhh," she whispered just loudly enough for him to hear. "Come here…come and meet your daughter."

There were no words to describe the emotions that flooded though him as he slowly approached the bed. Each one was more powerful than the next, each more indiscernible than the previous, and by the time he reached the bedside the only thing he could feel was numbness. It seemed almost unreal. For years Jacob had held to the belief that this was exactly the kind of thing he never wanted, and yet here he was.

As he gazed down at the newborn, he felt the traces of panic and fear melt away only to be replaced by a different feeling. Love. It swelled his insides so immensely that it almost hurt, but he hardly seemed to notice.

"She's perfect…" he breathed.

"Would you like to hold her?"

Immediately doubt crossed Jacob's face, and Gail laughed lightly. "Don't worry, it's easy! Here, hold out your arms…"

When his wife had settled their baby into his inexperienced grasp, he leaned over and kissed her forehead.

"How was it?"

"Do you have to ask? I'm just glad it's over! Your friend John drove me here, and he stayed with me for most of it. He'd probably still be here if he hadn't been called in to work."

"John was with you?" he repeated slowly. He would have to remember to thank J. Gander the next time he saw him.

Gail laughed again. "Well, he nearly fainted a few times, but he did very well. I think the doctors were more worried for him than for me!"

Silence settled over them, and both parents' eyes rested on their beautiful baby girl. Briefly the duckling opened her eyes and stared up at her father before closing them again. Gail smiled.

"She has your eyes…"

Jacob hadn't thought he could swell any more with pride, but somehow he managed.

"Jacob…?" Gail asked, her tone a little more urgent.

"Hm?"

"I didn't name her yet…I wanted to wait for you."

"Okay."

"I like the name Carolyn."

Jacob couldn't recall a single girl he'd dated with that name, and that was decidedly a good thing. He kept the arm supporting his daughter still and he lifted his free hand to run a finger gently over the baby's cheek.

"I like it," he said. "It suits her…."

"What about a middle name?"

Jacob was quiet only for a second. He knew the perfect one.

"Hadia."

"Hadia?" Gail repeated. "I've never heard that name before…it's lovely…"

Making sure to keep a firm but gentle hold of the infant, Jacob reached over and pulled one of the chairs over by the bedside so that he could sit on the edge of the chair and be nearer his wife.

"Here, I'd better feed her. That's why the nurse brought her in, after all," said Gail, sliding the baby out of Jacob's arms and onto her lap. She untied the top part of her hospital gown, and as Jacob watched Gail slide so easily into her role as a mother, he couldn't help but admire her. He wondered if he could do equally well in the role of father… But something told him that the road to hell was paved with good intentions.

* * *

_Author's Note: _Just so no one thinks Jacob is two-timing Gail, Penny is a DWD version of Moneypenny from the James Bond films. If you've ever seen Bond and Moneypenny interact, then you'll understand why I just had to throw that in there. ;)

Also, the shoe-phone is a nod to one of my favorite spy shoes, _Get Smart_.


	21. Misunderstanding

A heavy sigh escaped into the equally heavy silence, joining the concentrated air which had grown more and more laden with heavy sighs since J. Gander had taken over. He sat now with his fingers to his brow, propping his head up as his troubled gaze stared through the documents on the desk below.

The office was more than fifty years old, and had housed a fantastic line of noteworthy leaders whose accomplishments J. Gander felt he couldn't even remotely aspire to. Two portraits in particular hung on the walls, both of which held significance for the newest SHUSH director. One was of the first SHUSH leader, the one who paved the way for generations of directors, and the second was of the late Director Bonaparte, who had been a great mentor and friend to him. What J. Gander wouldn't give to hunt down the man who had so callously ended Bonaparte's career with two bullets to the head, echoing the assassination of President Kenneldy thirteen years prior. He had vowed to find the killer, even if it took him the rest of his career.

Another sigh. He pushed himself back, the leather on the chair squeaking from the friction, and redirected his thoughts elsewhere for the time being. The framed 5X7 on the corner of his desk caught his attention, and he picked it up, fully aware that he was postponing the inevitable.

The day he had been sworn in as Director of SHUSH had been one of the proudest in his life, though he had wished it had been under different circumstances. Still, Bonaparte had made strictly clear in his documents (his HU-2870s to be exact) that it was to be J. Gander Hooter to succeed him, much to John's astonishment. It was usually the chief agent who stepped up once the director's time had ended. The only thing that would have made that day better was if his best friend could have been there. But, as had seemed to be the trend ever since he had taken up with Blunt, Jacob had been on assignment and unable to break himself away. Their friendship had seemed to wilt as a result, a fact which appeared observable to J. Gander alone, and continued to do so even after Jacob had transferred to the local division. Still, Jacob had been the voice of encouragement when so many others had doubted J. Gander's ability to lead, doubts which undeniably sprouted from the fact that he was the youngest SHUSH director in the history of the organization.

Another sigh. How could this happen? What had led his old friend down such a dangerous path, spurred him to risk his near perfect life?

In the ten years since Jacob had officially ended his globe-trotting with Blunt, J. Gander had noticed a change not only in their friendship, but in Jacob himself as well. It was glaringly obvious to J. Gander that something was and had been amiss in his old friend's life for some time, he just didn't know what.

In an effort to repair whatever damage had been done, the moment J. Gander was named Bonaparte's successor he knew he wanted no other mallard serving as his chief agent than Jacob. Now, however, he was faced with some disturbing evidence that could ruin Jacob's career. He was not at all looking forward to the forthcoming meeting.

A brief knock preceded a brash opening of the door. It was Jacob, late as usual.

"You wanted to see me, John?"

There was a kind of hopeful glint in his eyes that made it that much harder for J. Gander to look at him. He addressed his stapler instead.

"How long have we known each other, Jacob?"

His friend was quiet for a moment, as if the question confused him. He shrugged.

"Geez, John, I don't know…22 years? Ha! Man, we're really turning into a couple of old geezers, aren't we? …And by 'we', I mean you, naturally."

John's short beak turned up in a weak smile, but not even Jacob's charisma could downplay the situation. A third sigh settled heavily into the air.

"Tell me about The Old Haunt."

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "The Old Haunt? Used to be an upstanding place until a few years back. Now it's just a seedy bar where copious amounts of the city's reprobates loom. Why?"

The small stack of papers slid across the desk toward him, and J. Gander's tired stare finally rested on his ex-partner. "This."

Jacob moved forward and scooped up the papers, glancing through them carefully.

"Oh, come on, John, you don't honestly believe –"

"I don't know what I believe, Jacob. Not anymore."

Black eyes narrowed under a severe brow. The edge of John's impressive oaken desk was suddenly occupied by Jacob's strong hands, as if threatening to overturn it. His grip was so tight the feathers around his knuckles paled.

"Twenty-two years, John," he snarled lowly in a voice his friend recognized as one reserved for hated adversaries. "Twenty-two years, and you dare to question my integrity…If you weren't my friend, I'd break your beak here and now. As it is, it appears I value our friendship more than you do. The title's gone to your head." With a sharp jerk Jacob released the desk and took a deep breath. "I've got a family to get home to. I can only hope by tomorrow you'll come to your senses."

There was nothing left to say. Jacob departed with a lasting glower that didn't make a dent in J. Gander's calm, hard stare.

* * *

The car had sat in idle for a good twenty minutes before J. Gander finally turned off the engine. Silence settled over him like fog, making him all too painfully aware of what he was doing out in the middle of what was quickly becoming one of the most criminally active areas in the city. 

He drummed his fingers agitatedly against the steering wheel, glancing across the street every other second toward the entrance to The Old Haunt. For a "seedy bar where copious amounts of the city's reprobates loom," it sure was quiet. A little too quiet. An unsettling quiet that heightened the churning in his stomach. The time for internal argument had come and gone, now it was left to gather his strength. He needed to know the truth once and for all, even if it meant losing his best friend.

The car door protested loudly as he exited, its hinges old and rusty from years of abuse. He made a mental note to buy some oil on his way home.

Voices floated over the saloon-style doors as the SHUSH director crossed the street, taking deep breaths as he went to alleviate the difficulty of clinging to his confidence. The orange light rolled over him like a sunrise as he stepped up toward the entrance, but he didn't continue inside. Instead he peered over the wooden swingers to spy the participants in the intense conversation. In the back of the bar, surrounded by notable delinquents, was Jacob, his pronounced eyebrows knitted together as he spoke in earnest.

Wanting to get a better view, and perhaps a better listen, J. Gander crept around the side of the building and into the alleyway. Unfortunately for the undersized avian, the only windows on the side of the structure were set up high. A few tattered, discarded boxes littered the alley, and he set about making a tower of them so that he could look through the glass nearest the back.

They were standing in a semi-circle around the table, Jacob in the middle. The only one seated J. Gander recognized as Shannon Mongoose, and his thick sausage fingers were steepled underneath his portly chin. On either side of him stood his twin sons, Dominick and Nino. Flanking them were other members of the Mongoose Gang, one of the most notorious groups of felons Saint Canard had ever seen.

"Come on, Mongoose," Jacob was saying firmly. "Do your part. Otherwise, you know who I'm going to, and I don't think you want her taking control of this part of town."

"We don't owe'em nothin'," Dominick said gruffly, folding his beefy arms.

"I don't think I was addressing you, son," Jacob replied evenly.

"How much are we talking here?" Mongoose asked, his steely voice grating through the tension between his son and the SHUSH agent.

"Enough. You can't put a price on this kind of thing. And let's not forget what he did for you when your son stuck his nose where it didn't belong."

Moments passed, and J. Gander couldn't imagine the expression Mongoose must be wearing. People that usually talked to him like that ended up at the bottom of the Audubon Bay. The mobster reached into his pocket, and the director felt every muscle in his body tense up.

"Jacob!" he shouted, hoping to warn his friend. Jerking upright, he tumbled off of the tower of boxes and raced around the corner before barreling through the swinging doors. "Stop!"

The scene before him froze, Mongoose in the act of handing over a wad of cash to Jacob. John drew his gun and aimed it toward the group huddled at the corner. Unfortunately, the entire mob drew their own arsenal at the same time.

"Whoa, whoa!" Jacob cried, pushing to the front of the group. "Hang on a second, put those down!"

The felons looked warily from each other to their boss, whose single nod sent guns back into pockets. Mongoose seemed to recognize the SHUSH director, and leaned back farther in his chair to watch the impending conversation with the slightest hint of a smirk beneath his thin mustache.

"What are you doing here…sir?"

The afterthought of formality didn't escape the notice of J. Gander, and the ease with which Jacob consorted with the gang didn't sit well with his friend.

"I should ask you the same thing, agent," he said, mimicking his tone. "Except that I already have an idea. They're one of your payers, aren't they, Mallard? One of many in this part of town. They pay you off, you let them run things how they see fit."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Jacob seethed through his teeth.

"Don't try and talk your way out of it, I saw what you were about to do, I heard what you said."

"You don't know anything. Stand down, sir. I've got to finish things here, and then I promise we'll talk later."

J. Gander's eyes slid over to Mongoose, whose thick eyebrow was raised curiously as he eyed superior and agent. The director could feel a sickly, nauseating feeling creeping into his stomach. Jacob was making him look like a weak fool, and no criminal mastermind would take SHUSH seriously if they knew it was headed by a pushover. John stood his ground.

"No. You're relieved of your duties until I see fit. Give me your badge and your gun, agent. You're coming with me."

"I can't, I need –"

"_Now_, agent."

* * *

_Author's Note: A new Chapter 21. Going off of an idea from the lovely Miss Lael Adair, I decided to nix the previous chapter and replace it with this. If this is seemingly too odd a jump, too disjointed, from Carrie's birth to here, let me know. I don't want there to be a ton of confusion, but I also want to let you readers know that more _will_ be explained in later chapters, including the information that was in the original Chapter 21. Let me know what you think! We're coming up on the final chapters of the story._


	22. Legacy

_Note: If you haven't yet read the new Chapter 21, I'd suggest you read it before progressing on to this last chapter. :)_

* * *

The soundless car ride was interrupted by a short trip to a convenience store for some much needed oil before J. Gander's old jalopy dragged its tires into the front parking space at SHUSH Central. Two sets of webbed feet strode into the building, one pair much more purposeful and confident than the other. J. Gander hoped Jacob couldn't hear his racing heart as they entered his sober office.

"Sit…" His voice sounded muffled and strained, as if an invisible rope had him in a chokehold. When he reached his desk he cleared his throat and repeated himself a little more firmly. "Sit down."

"I prefer to stand…sir."

Jacob sounded so cold, so angry, that J. Gander could barely catch the twinge of hurt Jacob was trying hard to mask. That sound alone made the gander already regret his decision. Deep down there was the fear that this act alone would be enough to sever their friendship. But J. Gander was the director, and SHUSH always came first.

"Fine. Tell me exactly what you were doing receiving money from the Mongoose Gang?"

Jacob's eyebrows twitched minutely as he stared at his superior. "Did you know a man named Charlie Collarton?"

"No, and I don't see what that has to do with –"

"He had a wife and two kids. Owned a nice little bar for quite some time before the lowlifes took over. To protect his family and stay in business he let a few things slide, let the cons move in and do business there so long as it was under the table. But somebody didn't want to play by the rules…shoved a shotgun down his throat." He leaned forward, gripping the desk as he had done earlier that day. "The reason I was collecting money was reparations for Mr. Collarton's family. Charlie was a good man. He didn't deserve what he got. I'm going to see to it that his widow is taken care of, and what better way to do that than collecting from the same criminal scum responsible for his death?"

J. Gander was silent for a few long minutes, turning this odd narrative over in his mind. It didn't quite seem to make sense in the director's straightforward, black-and-white manner of thinking. But this wasn't paperwork, so easily definable. He raised an eyebrow behind his small spectacles.

"And why would mobsters and criminals so freely give their money to a dead man's family? Or more specifically, to you?"

"Look, John, I have my own methods. They respect me down there, and they see things my way, because they know what's there for them on the other side if they don't. If Mongoose hadn't divvied up, I'd have been a little bit more intrusive on his men's…activities. And without manpower, he knows he'll lose to Mob Hill. He has every reason to comply."

The gander's jaw hung open. "Jacob, that's completely unethical! Making deals with criminals and baiting them against one another! I've never heard of such –"

"That's because you're not _out_ there, John. You're safe and sound in your little office puppeteering the rest of us."

"And you're out there gallivanting around with the very people we're supposed to be protecting the city from!"

"Last I checked, we weren't cops. Let them do the protecting."

"Aren't you afraid of retaliation? What about your family?"

"What about them?" Jacob snapped. "You have no idea how much I've already had to sacrifice for their sake! My independence, my freedom, my time, my job…"

"Your job? I didn't mean to imply…wait…Does this have to do with your transfer a few years back?"

The slicked back feathers on Jacob's head ruffled slightly as he ran his fingers through them, as he always did when he felt frustrated or worried.

"I didn't tell you before, but it was never my decision to break away from Blunt and stay local. It was Gail's. With Drake on the way, she wanted me home more. She gave me little room for another option." He smirked. "I hate it. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, but…I miss being _out_ there; actually making a difference; having adventures; using intrigue, gadgets, death-defying stunts to defeat real-world threats. I've felt trapped ever since I transferred. In working with the downtown mobs to maintain order, I've found a purpose, I feel useful again. But it's not the same. Believe me, John, this isn't what I had in mind."

The gander smiled. "I know. You wanted to be on top of the world. You had to know what you were getting into when you married, though."

Jacob shifted his weight, growing tired of this subject. He'd had this same internal conversation with himself for years now. "I thought I did. I didn't plan on fatherhood taking so much away from me." He grew quiet, an agitated look returning to his aging face. He crossed his arms and stood up to his full height. "I don't take bribes, John. You know me better than that."

J. Gander struggled to put Jacob's actions in any perspective that didn't seem underhanded. "So you mean to tell me that in some strange, roundabout way you're trying to rehabilitate the cons of this city by enforcing contributions to their victims' families while at the same time allowing them to continue running their covert, illegal activities?"

"Something like that."

J. Gander rubbed his brow. It was all so bizarre, and it was too much for the bird to make sense of at the moment. But he knew for certain that no matter what happened, the last thing he could do was fire his best friend, and Jacob had never been purposely malicious or corrupt despite some of his questionable methods. Perhaps he had been too hasty in suspending the agent. Besides, if things did get out of hand, he could always assign more agents to Jacob's beat to handle things.

Finally he lifted his eyes and smiled faintly. "And to think…I want you to be my chief agent."

Jacob blinked, clearly not expecting the offer. "You're joking."

"No, I'm quite serious. All of the men here respect you and look up to you, Jacob. I know it isn't exactly your ideal, but you'll have a lot more say in the way things are run. After all, the only person you'll report to will be me. It's either this, or staying where you are. There are a lot more benefits to being the chief agent than you might think, and certainly it will help your family financially. Carrie's starting high school this year, right? In another year she'll be driving."

Jacob cringed. "Don't remind me."

John smiled. "Just think about it. Talk it over with Gail. I'll expect your answer by the end of the week. In the meantime…be careful with the way you deal with Mongoose and Hill. I trust you're doing your best to uphold the law, but you never know what a mob leader will decide to do. I want you to use more caution."

"Oh come now, John…I'm always cautious." Jacob flashed a brief boyish smirk before adding, "So…does this mean I can have my badge back?"

"Of course." J. Gander slid the badge and handgun across the desk toward his friend, but kept his hands on them as a grin filled his bill. "Once you've cleaned and organized your office."

Jacob groaned.

* * *

The next day Jacob found himself chatting with J. Gander in the hallways like old times. It was as if now that his friend knew of his activities, there wasn't so much heaviness to it, because he knew he had the director's backing. And with the director's backing Jacob knew he would have more freedom to do things his way.

They were nearing his office, a quick stop before they both headed home for the evening. "One of these days, I'm going to pull you away from that desk. I promise!" he chided John playfully as he placed his hand on the knob. "Wait up a second and I'll walk out with you. I just have to grab my coat."

It took him only a few minutes of searching in the cluttered darkness to locate it.

"Hrm…wait a minute…Aha! There you are!" He snatched it off of his leather chair, rattling it slightly, and headed out without noticing the figure slouched underneath his desk.

"Hey John…about yesterday. Something's still bothering me."

"What's that?"

Pushing open one of the glass double doors to step out in front of his friend, Jacob continued. "Just where did you get those photos of me?"

"They were sent to me anonymously," J. Gander replied. "Do you have any idea who might've wanted to ruin your career? Maybe it was one of Mongoose's men trying to get out of paying his share."

"Maybe…" the agent shrugged. "Oh, forget it. See you tomorrow."

His yellow Jaguar beeped twice, disabling its brand new car alarm system, and Jacob slid into the driver's seat, which had been his favorite place to be ever since he'd acquired the car from SHUSH.

The drive always seemed too short, and there were many nights that Jacob found himself wishing with some guilt that he could just keep on driving. But every night he pulled into the same driveway, knowing that as soon as he stepped over the threshold, it would all make sense again.

"Honey, I'm home!" he called. Though it had been a joke from the start, Jacob found that he couldn't stop using the ritualistic greeting for every homecoming.

"Oh good!" came Gail's voice from the kitchen. "We're just getting ready for dinner. Kids, set the table!"

There was a teenage scoff from the dining room. "Mom, I already did that."

"Okay, thank you, Carrie," Gail chirped, turning to give Jacob a quick peck on the bill.

The smell of roast chicken filled the air, and he could feel his mouth moisten with hunger.

"Hey, Dad!"

Jacob felt a sharp tug at his sleeve and turned to look down at his young son. He smiled broadly and scooped the ten-year-old up in his arms.

"Haha, Drake! Now you're my prisoner!!" He spun around a few times, letting Drake's legs flail out behind him as the duckling laughed gleefully. "And as punishment, you're going to eat _two_ spoonfuls of lima beans tonight!"

"Noooo!" Drake giggled as his father sat him down at the table. "That's no fair! I could've gotten away! You just got lucky."

"Luck has nothing to do with it, son," Jacob smirked. "It's all about what's up here." He tapped his temple pointedly. "Remember that."

"I will, Dad. Hey, d'ya wanna see my science project after dinner?"

Gail came around the table and doled out portions of the home-cooked meal, and Jacob took the opportunity to fill his beak with mashed potatoes. When he swallowed, he glanced at Drake apologetically.

"I can't, kiddo. I've got a lot of work to go over." Jacob looked away quickly before he could see the disappointment on his son's face.

"Did you have a good day at work, sweetie?" Gail asked after finally sitting herself down to dinner after serving everyone else.

Jacob smiled, glad for the change of subject. "Yeah…I did."

* * *

It was the end of the week, and Jacob knew it was time to give his decision to J. Gander. Just past five o'clock he found himself trudging miserably into his disastrous office.

The plush leather chair felt uncomfortable around him, confining him behind his disorganized desk. He stood up and paced, but no amount of movement placated the turmoil indecision brought. Rarely was he unsure of anything, and it was times like these he was all too aware that the decision was a life-altering one. But he didn't have just himself to think about, he had his family too.

Would this promotion mean more sacrifice on his part? Giving up more of the mallard he was for the sake of comfort?

His agitated stare fell on the many framed photographs he had lining his desk. The one of his wedding day showed a naïve young mallard, so wrapped up in love that he'd forgotten that with love came responsibility to the one whom that love was for. The second was taken only a year after Drake's birth. A family portrait. Though he'd been thrilled at becoming a father, and even more overjoyed when he and Gail had been blessed with a son, the blatant truth was that the birth of their children had terrified him.

He had been determined to be a better father to them than his father had been to him and his brother, but he had had no idea what that meant, exactly. He still didn't. He tried what he could, mimicking those happy fathers he saw in the park or on the occasional television show, but when it came to the meaningful things, the things he knew might have a lasting impact, he avoided them altogether. Not once did he raise his voice or raise a hand to either his children or Gail, but neither did he really immerse himself in spending time with them. Although he was home almost every night, he wasn't really _there_. He was afraid to be. The last thing he wanted to do was screw up his kids' lives, and the best way he knew how to avoid that was to avoid them.

It wasn't that he wasn't a good father. It was that he was a coward. He loved them where he could, mostly from a distance, and they would never know how much joy and pride they had brought to his life.

He sighed.

With this new job, he could work less at SHUSH with more pay, yet at the same time being chief agent meant being chained to a desk. It meant ordering other agents out on the field while he awaited updates from within the building. He would be a prisoner. And yet, J. Gander had said that he would have a lot more say in the way things were run. Who was to say that he couldn't change the role of chief agent into a more involved one? Who was to say that he _couldn't_ go out on missions, travelling the world like he used to?

His thoughts began to carry him away as he dreamed of having his old life back, but before he could get his head too far into the clouds, reality pulled him back down.

He couldn't go globe-trotting, he had a wife and kids. It wasn't fair to leave Gail alone to do everything, and she had expressed such an idea when she was pregnant with Drake. Her opinion wouldn't have changed by this time; she was as stubborn as he was. Then there was J. Gander. Would the director really go for his new outlook on the role of chief agent?

Suddenly he was right back where he started.

Heaving a sigh, he slumped back into the uncomfortable chair and moved to prop his feet up on the desk when something caught his eye. It was a wide manila folder stamped CONFIDENTIAL in red ink. Curious, he picked it up and tore it open at the top.

Inside was a single piece of paper which Jacob read over three times with increasing excitement. It was a mission letter, and at the bottom was the signature of Director John Gander Hooter. Jacob silently thanked his old friend. This was exactly what he needed. A chance to get out of the office and rekindle his drive, his ambition, his hunger for life. A mission would help him prove not only to J. Gander and the rest of SHUSH, but to himself, that he was still a capable and ingenious agent with the sharp wit and skills it took to be a top agent. This was the key to assuming the role of chief agent in a way befitting him. And there would be no way anyone could dispute his tactics or his leadership without being frowned upon by the organization. It was perfect! Jacob had never been more pleased to have John as a friend, and he couldn't wait to tell Gail the good news.

In the next instant he was on his way home with a bounce in his step that hadn't been there in nearly a decade. What he didn't know was that night would be the last time he would see his wife and children. The letter he'd received hadn't been left by J. Gander at all, but by an assassin hell-bent on destroying the life Jacob had. And while the SHUSH legacy Jacob would leave behind would be every bit as awe-inspiring and filled with tall tales as he would have hoped, the damage wrought upon those closest to him by his disappearance was beyond compare. He had striven to be a decent man, but those efforts had returned to him altogether unforeseen consequences. Though he'd been afraid of it, engaging with his children would have been far less destructive than his total absence would ever be.

It was a lesson learned too late for the late Jacob Mallard.

* * *

_Author's Note: Well, here it is. I'm not sure how happy I am with the whole thing, but it's done and right now that's all I care about. As I said last chapter, let me know if it feels disjointed or if I forgot to wrap up any loose ends. Mind you, there are a few things I purposely glossed over. I plan on writing more Jacob fics in the future to fill those in. This was just an overview story of his life in general._

_I've left it open on purpose in the end. Did Jacob disappear or did he perish? Both? I wanted to leave that up to you, the reader, to decide._

_Keep an eye out for the sequel to this story, _The Deeds of the Son_, which tells the story of Drake from this point on._

_PLEASE REVIEW!!_


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